


Fall from Grace

by rummy_cat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Sansa Stark, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fun, Happy Starks (ASoIaF), Inappropriate Humor, Light Angst, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Protective Sandor Clegane, Recreational Drug Use, Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark Friendship, Totally Irreverent, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rummy_cat/pseuds/rummy_cat
Summary: PREMISE: Sandor gets out of prison to find there are new neighbors in his shitty neighborhood in southside White Harbor, and they might be even crazier than he is. Set on laying low, he should stay far away from the Starks and their never-ending drama, but the Starks seem intent on worming their way into his heart, even the tough but guarded eldest sister, Sansa. Throw in friends the likes of Bronn and Beric, and a little old lady with a smart mouth and dirty mind, and Sandor is in for one hell of a ride.AUTHOR NOTES:A Shameless/ASOIAF crossover, because I can totally imagine the Starks as the Gallaghers if they lacked parental supervision. It's OK if you've never seen Shameless or never read/seen ASOIAF/GOT... other than a few minor references, this is more or less original plot, but inspired by the characters in both shows.SanSan is the main pairing. The story may not be appealing if you're strictly into Gendrya, but there will be lots of "bro moments" between Sandor and Arya and Rickon, so if you like Sandor, check this one out.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 113
Kudos: 148





	1. "So, you’re outta stir."

“Arya! If you don’t get your _ass_ in the _car_ in ten seconds, I’m going to drag you out by your hair and throw you in the trunk!”

Sandor peered between the blinds of his front window. Across the street, two boys were getting into the back seat of an early model sedan while a red-haired girl in a bathrobe shouted back toward what was apparently their house. A teenage girl with dark hair and a distinct punk rock vibe emerged through the front door, flashing the middle finger at the first girl. Or perhaps she was a woman, though she looked too young to be the mother of the other kids who were all at least middle school age. All Sandor could tell for certain was that the woman had the most beautiful, copper red hair he’d ever seen, even if it was frizzy and mussed at the moment.

“Oh no, not the finger!” the redhead gasped in mock horror. As the teenage girl walked by, she got a smack on the back of the head, but Sandor knew there was more love than anger behind it.

More words were exchanged in arguing tones, but Sandor couldn’t hear them.

Just as the woman was about to get in the driver’s seat, she turned toward Sandor’s house. He dropped the blinds and jumped back from the window, but it was too late. A couple seconds later he heard, “Hope you enjoyed the show!”

An engine turned over and a few more seconds passed before he heard the car drive off.

Sandor wasn’t new to White Harbor, or even this neighborhood, but it had been awhile since he saw any part of it except empty fields beyond barbed wire fence. He had lived most of his life in this shit hole of a town. It was the kind of place where the majority of residents were on some type of welfare. The houses were old and run down, but sturdy.

Long ago White Harbor was a proud coastal city with a thriving fishing industry. Throughout history it had been the most critical port of the North and was a key trade hub between northern and southern Westeros, and even between Westeros and Essos. But like so many coastal cities, the passage of time would see White Harbor become a commercial shipping hub, the revenue of which traced back to big southern and western corporations. No longer could small fisherman and independent merchants make a living there; for one thing, the water in the bay was rife with industrial run-off. And without a desirable beach front, White Harbor never became a tourist destination like Sunspear, Lannisport, and Storm’s End. The companies that owned the real estate along White Harbor bay were import/export conglomerates. Their revenue barely supported the surrounding towns and neighborhoods. The docks paid minimum wage, because it didn’t take much skill to load and unload crates. Eighty percent of White Harbor’s economy was tied to import and export. The rest of the economy was comprised of the small businesses you’d find in any town – restaurants, bars, laundromats, banks, doctor’s offices, and such. At one point a major automobile manufacturer had its assembly plant just twenty minutes north of White Harbor. Things were better then. When the plant closed down, White Harbor never recovered. It was hard to attract businesses to the area. Once you got a couple miles inland from the coast, it was like the rest of the North – cold, icy, snowy, and bleak during winters, which were long.

Like all towns that had fallen on tough times, White Harbor had a rampant drug problem. Those minimum wage dock workers spent their measly pay checks on substances they’d smoke, inject, or snort, living five men to an apartment so they could all afford to feed their addiction, and stealing when they ran out of money.

But Sandor didn’t mind living in this shit hole town, because it was the shit hole he knew. He grew up a few miles from here. His father was a pathetic waste of space, his brother was a sadistic waste of space. The house he grew up in was a run-down rowhome in the worst part of town. Sandor got out as soon as he could. He had enough brains to apprentice as an auto mechanic, and later a diesel mechanic. It paid well, by White Harbor standards. With all the trucks coming to/from the port his skills were always in demand.

He bought the house where he currently lived ten years ago. It wasn’t the nicest part of town, but it wasn’t the worst. Sandor didn’t want to live anywhere “nice”. He didn’t want neighbors waving to him while they watered their plants each morning. He didn’t want thieves targeting his neighborhood because they knew those houses were their best chance of finding a safe filled with cash or jewelry. He also didn’t want to live in the worst section, where you’d literally walk to your car in the morning to find a druggie passed out or dead on the sidewalk, needle still sticking out of his arm. Where your house would get broken into not because it looked like you had anything worth taking, but because the people in the area were simply that desperate.

Unfortunately, you could take the man out of the slums but couldn’t take the slums out of the man. Despite having a good job, his own house, his own car, and even money stashed away in a hidden floor safe, Sandor had been a bitter and angry man. He could, objectively, admit that. In his early and mid-twenties he drank heavily, fought often, and generally walked around waiting for some guy to say something about his appearance so he could clean his clock. His drinking buddy and best friend, Beric, tried to keep him in line, but Beric was battling his own demons. Sandor’s fuse was short; Beric’s was only a tad longer. Both of them justified their behavior, or rather thought it was canceled out by their otherwise _upstanding_ citizen status. They both worked, paid their taxes, didn’t peddle drugs, and didn’t bother anyone who couldn’t defend himself. At the end of a long day in the garage, if Sandor wanted to let some steam off by beating the piss out of some punk who asked him if he accidentally fell head-first into a meat grinder, then Sandor didn’t see the problem.

And in White Harbor, you could get away with that kind of behavior, until someone got killed.

Sandor still felt sick when he thought about _that night_. He and Beric, along with their annoying-but-fun friend Bronn, were out drinking on a Thursday after work. Nothing new there. They were at their usual watering hole, The Kraken, minding their own business. The serving staff knew Sandor, Bronn, and Beric well. Though they were rough looking men – Sandor with his height and facial scars, Beric with his eyepatch from an old work injury, and Bronn with his thrice-broken nose and permanent smarmy smirk – the good people at the Kraken knew they didn’t cause trouble. More accurately, any trouble they caused or joined in, they took outside. That was the owner’s one and only rule.

There were four men there that night shooting pool. They were obviously not locals. They had southern accents and weren’t adequately dressed for the storm that was covering the city in a sheet of ice.

The men were obviously drunk, and obviously didn’t know it was always best to lay low when you were in unfamiliar territory. The drunker they got, the louder they got. Each time the waitress, Asha, delivered more beers to their table by the billiards, they made lewd comments. Asha was a tough bitch and didn’t need or want anyone defending her, so Sandor, Beric, and Bronn let it be. But eventually one of the southern cunts grabbed Asha’s ass as she was walking away. She turned around and smacked him hard on the cheek. Not a typical woman’s smack that would leave a red handprint for an hour, but a put-your-whole-body-into-it smack that would bruise the guy’s cheekbone. Knowing Asha, if the incident happened anywhere but her father’s establishment, she would have punched him in the nose or bounced his head off the table. As it was, she took a step back, clearly hoping her message had been received.

But it wasn’t. The fucker backhanded Asha, knocking her to the floor. She was strong for a chick but still had at least a 60-lb disadvantage. Sandor saw red, and within seconds he was on top of the guy, pummeling his face. He was vaguely aware of Beric and Bronn dealing with two of the man’s companions, while Asha’s brother Theon jumped over the bar and laid claim to the fourth.

Asha was apparently the only one with presence of mind. “Outside!” she shouted over the din of grunts and fists meeting bone. Even in his fit of rage Sandor heard her command and dragged the coward out front. Sandor pushed him out the door roughly, and that’s when it all went to shit, in slow motion. The man’s feet landed on a frozen-over puddle, and after briefly trying to maintain his balance he fell backwards, his head smacking hard against a fire hydrant. He was dead on contact, Sandor later found out. Sandor stood there, staring at the unmoving body even as the rest of his friends streamed out with the rest of the other guy’s friends. One by one their fists stopped flying as they saw the man lying there.

The rest of the night was a blur. Police lights. Asha apologizing to Sandor. Beric and Bronn speaking to him feverishly – offering some words of advice he couldn’t hear.

Surprisingly, the cops and prosecutors were sympathetic to him. Perhaps because Sandor was a local. Perhaps because Asha, Theon, and the cameras vouched for him that they victim was an asshole who hit women. Perhaps because folks in White Harbor didn’t like southerners (and often forgot Sandor was from the south, his dad having moved them to White Harbor when Sandor was eight).

He ended up pleading guilty to involuntary manslaughter to avoid going to trial for voluntary manslaughter. As such, he’d go to jail for 5 years rather than a chance at 15-25. Bronn told him to take the deal. Beric told him to fight it. Sandor took the deal because 5 years didn’t seem that long, and because he _was_ guilty. He didn’t mean to kill the guy, but he did. As big and strong as he was, he could have taught the guy a lesson with a single punch to the gut, but he didn’t stop there. He could have let Theon and Asha throw him out. They could have called the cops if the men didn’t leave peacefully.

The mortgage on his house was cheap, and Bronn, Beric, Asha, and Theon pooled together their resources to keep up payments while Sandor was in jail. He’d pay them back, of course, but he didn’t want to lose the 5-year dent he’d made in his 15-year mortgage.

Beric and Bronn also stopped by his house on occasion to make sure there were no squatters. They’d crash there sometimes to make the house seem somewhat lived in. They’d mow the grass and make sure one of the neighbor kids was paid to shovel and salt anytime there was a snowstorm. Luckily, Spring had arrived shortly after Sandor began serving his sentence. That Spring lasted two years, and they were almost three years into a record-hot summer when Sandor was released yesterday.

Bronn brought him home, and the neighborhood didn’t look much changed, other than that he’d never seen it during summer. He lived there during a fall and a winter, but never a spring or summer.

Oddly the houses, with their peeling paint, broken fences, shutter-less windows, and rusty screen doors, looked better in summer. Sandor would have expected the beauty of the flowers and trees to make the ugliness of the homes even more noticeable, but the opposite happened.

Before he went to jail, he didn’t know his neighbors well, but he was certain the redhead didn’t live across from him at the time of his arrest. He wondered if the old lady who had lived to his right was still alive. The woman was legally blind yet managed to know everything that went on in the neighborhood. Not that Sandor went out of his way to talk to her, but as he was walking to his car in the morning she’d call over nosey comments from her porch, like, ‘You got home late last night’ or ‘did you hear the Porters going at it again? One of these days she’s gonna hit him upside the head with a frying pan, and then who’ll trim my hedges?’

The Porters were a young couple that lived across from the old woman, Betty. Sandor only knew because of Betty’s gossip.

On Sandor’s left lived an old man, Jorge, with his two middle-aged sons. The sons were dumber than light posts, but Jorge couldn’t keep up with the big house by himself. That’s about all Sandor knew about them.

Sandor couldn’t remember who lived across from Jorge, but he was knew the house across from him had been inhabited by some middle-aged woman and her two yapping terriers. Sandor always loved dogs, but he’d been tempted to coat a hambone with rat poison and toss it into her yard on more than one occasion. The dogs didn’t discriminate neighbor from stranger. They barked at the postman. They barked at kids outside on their bikes or skateboards. They barked at Sandor anytime he had the nerve to step outside of his house. The only person they didn’t bark at was Betty, perhaps because she had a set of lungs on her that was louder than a train whistle. When she was on her porch and the dogs would bark at Sandor, she’d shout across the street, “Shut up ya mangy mutts or I’ll make a pair of slippers out of you!” The dogs would peek through the fence in frightened confusion, and Betty would shoot a proud smile in Sandor’s general direction.

Some minutes passed since the redhead and the three kids drove off, and Sandor stepped onto his porch. Today he’d go beg for his old job back. He was good at it, and diesel mechanics weren’t easy to find in White Harbor, nor were reliable, _clean_ employees. But he’d still go there with a respectful amount of humility and hope that Jorah would take pity on him. If not, he had plenty to live on in his safe. He hadn’t told any of his four friends about the money. It made him feel guilty, knowing they were dipping into their own funds to keep up his house payments, but there were things in the safe he didn’t want anyone seeing. Old newspaper clippings. A lock of hair. A handgun. A dog collar. A gold ring. Today he’d go see about getting his job back. If he was successful in that, he’d pay Beric, Bronn, Asha, and Theon a good chunk of what was owed to them, with promise to pay off the rest over the next two years, with interest.

The only problem was he no longer had a car, and he hated taking the bus. In exchange for Beric and Bronn helping with upkeep on the house, he told them they could fight over his pickup truck when he got locked up. It was high mileage but dependable and great in the snow. Since Beric and Bronn were roommates at the time they ended up sharing it, and four years into Sandor’s sentence, the truck died for good with 220,000 miles on it.

Sandor walked down his front steps, wondering if he should just suck it up and take the bus or call a cab.

“So, you’re outta stir.”

Sandor turned to find Betty rocking back and forth on her porch chair. She was sipping tea. As always, her eyes were unfocused but her other senses were, apparently, as sharp as ever.

Sandor walked to stand in her yard just below her porch steps, “Yep. Since yesterday. How’d you know?”

“Not many footsteps are as heavy as yours. The other fellows that come and go must be tiny things.”

Sandor laughed, “Not really, just compared to me, I guess.”

“How big are ya, anyway?”

Sandor shrugged though she couldn’t see him, “Six-foot-seven. Maybe two-sixty. Haven’t weighed myself in a while.”

“Gods have mercy,” Betty shook her head, “You big everywhere?”

“Umm…”

“Oh don’t be shy. My Jack was a little guy, but he was big where it counted. It just goes to show you.”

“Yeah,” Sandor felt his cheeks heat, which didn’t happen to him often.

“You hear those hooligans this morning? Gods, whole family has a set of pipes on ‘em.”

“Yeah, um… when did they move in?”

Betty scrunched her face in concentration, “Couple months after you got pinched, I’d say.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “I didn’t get _pinched_ , Betty. I confessed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard all about it. Sounds to me that little prick had it coming. If you ever see someone grab my ass or slap me in the face, you feel free to do the same.”

Sandor chuckled at the idea of someone grabbing Betty’s ass. She had to be nearly eighty years old, though she was so spunky it was hard to tell.

“Alright, Betty.”

“Anyway, you know Lysa who lived there with the dogs?”

“The ones you were gonna turn into slippers?”

“Yep. She died, left the house to her sister’s kids, apparently.”

“So, waddaya think of them? Other than loud.”

“Two of them are hellions. The younger girl and younger boy, by the sound of it. The older girl is polite when she talks to me, but she’s always hollering after those kids like she doesn’t know other people have ears.”

“Mmm… what about the other kid? I saw three kids she was driving.”

“Oh he’s the quiet one. Not sure I could tell you what his voice sounds like.”

“Anyone else live there?”

“No. Some handsome fella comes by every few months, spends an evening or a weekend. Best I can figure the redhead gives him a roll, and he leaves behind a wad.”

Sandor shook his head, “How do you know he’s handsome, Betty?”

“Got a smooth voice. I’d say he’s the type that’s handsome in a pretty kinda way. Not like you.”

Sandor’s eyes widened, “What does that mean?” Of course, he knew he wasn’t handsome, and certainly not _pretty,_ but he was amused to hear Betty’s reasoning.

“You got a deep, raspy voice. Gravelly. You ain’t a pretty sort, more like dark with rugged good looks. Am I right?”

“Dark, aye. Don’t know about rugged good-looks.”

“Don’t lie to me, Sandy. I’ll ask the girl across the street to be my eyes, she’ll tell me true.”

“My name’s _Sandor_ , not Sandy, remember? And I’m not lying; I ain’t much to look at, and that suits me fine.”

Betty shrugged indifferently, “So how’s it feel to be out?”

“Good. Not as weird as I thought it would be. Hopefully I can get my old job back. And I let my friends have my truck, so I guess now I need to see about buying a new one.”

“Hmpf, you can take mine off my hands.”

“Huh?”

Betty hooked her thumb in the direction of her detached garage. Hers was one of the few houses on the street with one.

“Jack’s old pickup. None of the grandkids want it. I can’t _give_ the damned thing away.”

Sandor was shocked. He liked Betty, and she was the only neighbor he ever spoke with voluntarily, but he didn’t know her well enough to expect her to give him a truck.

“Uh, does it run?”

Betty shrugged, “There was nothing wrong with it when he died, but it’s been sitting for the better part of ten years. My son used to come by once in a while, take it around the block. I let Porter borrow it a few times to pick up furniture, but it hasn’t been started in nearly a year.”

Sandor stepped up onto the porch, “Yeah, I’m definitely interested. I can fix it if it doesn’t run. But I’ll give you some money for it.”

“Got a better idea,” Betty grinned mischievously, and Sandor briefly worried she was going to ask for some type of sexual favor, after she’d inquired about the size of his… _anatomy_. Did eighty-year-old women still have those kinds of needs?

“What?” he finally spoke, hesitantly.

“I pay that Jones kid fifty dollars every other week to bring my groceries. I don’t need much, but he screws it up anyway. Plus I give him ten bucks a week to mow my lawn. I tend my own flowers, pull my own weeds, but I don’t want to be on the nightly news ‘cause I ran over some tike with my lawnmower.”

Sandor laughed at the humorous yet frightening visual, “Alright. I can do both. I’ll just get your groceries when I go for mine. And I’ll mow when I mow my yard. And shovel in the winter, too.”

“Gods, I hope I’m dead before the next winter! You can keep the truck in the garage, Sandy. Keeps the strain off the battery.”

“You know your cars.”

“Only what I heard my Jack talk about over the years. Summer heat and winter cold are both hard on batteries… wait here, I’ll get the keys to the truck and the garage. You can make copies.”

While waiting on the porch the sedan from across the street returned. The redhead jumped out, on the phone with someone, “I’m tired of covering for her ass; you know she only gets away with it because she’s fucking Bobby Junior.” Sandor could hear no more as she hastily entered her door. About three minutes later she was exiting in a blue dress, the type seen on waitresses at diners. She was yanking on white tennis shoes as she walked, with her phone still pressed to her ear by her shoulder.

“Shit, Mya, you got deodorant in your locker? My pits smell like a whore’s ass… Good, thanks. I’ll buy you a new one if you’re afraid of my cooties.”

Sandor snorted at her colorful analogy and the girl looked up. She looked confused for a moment then angry. She swung open the car door and retrieved a tire iron before stomping across the street toward Sandor.

“Shit,” he cursed as he hopped over the railing and landed on Betty’s geraniums. He held his hands up as he stood near the edge of Betty’s yard, ready to bolt toward his own house if necessary.

“Betty!” the woman shouted as she got closer to him, “There’s some fucking weirdo on your porch, you know him, or do you want me to break his kneecaps?”

Sandor heard Betty’s feet pattering toward the door, “That’s Sandy,” she called.

He groaned at her use of the unwelcome nickname.

“Who the fuck’s Sandy? He looks like a hitman,” the woman shouted at Betty all the while pinning Sandor with her eyes, the tire iron firmly gripped in both hands like a baseball player ready to swing.

“Oh does he?” Betty called from her seat on the porch, “He told me he ain’t much to look at, I was gonna ask what you thought, dear.”

Sandor blushed for the second time that morning. Apparently, it was becoming a habit. 

“You sure he’s alright, Betty?”

“Yes, Sansa. He’s lived here longer than you, dear.”

“Then how come I never saw him?”

“He’s the one who was in prison.”

Sandor threw up his arms. What a great first impression he was making, not that she was doing much better.

“Oh, well in that case…” Sansa snorted.

“No, no, dear—” Betty started to protest, but Sandor interrupted her.

“Betty, I don’t need you defending me,” he held his hand out toward the woman, hoping she wouldn’t whack it with her metal weapon. She only stared at him suspiciously. He sighed, “I’m Sandor. I moved here ten years ago,” he hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward his house, “And yes, I just got out of prison, but I’m not some cunt that robs or hurts little old ladies, or little young ladies, or anyone else that isn’t asking for it, so you can stand down before you hurt someone.”

She lowered the weapon and her face relaxed. As if nothing unusual had happened she called out, “Have a nice day, Betty.”

“You too, dear!”

The girl – Sansa – walked to her car and drove off without another glance in Sandor’s direction. He made a silent promise to stay far away from her and her house. He didn’t need to have the cops called on him by some paranoid bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly this is a tougher Sansa than you're used to seeing, and you'll learn how she got that way in the coming chapters. Like Sansa in ASOIAF, she is adaptable, if nothing else, and she's had to adapt quite a bit.
> 
> Conversely, Sandor isn't as rough around the edges as you may expect to see. For one thing, I tend to soften him in modern AUs. For another thing, you're meeting him the day he got out of a 5-year prison sentence. Staying out of a jail is a pretty strong motivator for him not to let his past demons rule his life.


	2. "Did you get conjugal visits?"

“What was it like to kill a man?”

Sandor bumped his head as he scrambled to roll out from under Jack’s truck.

When his eyes adjusted to the sun, he saw the dark-haired girl from across the street staring down at him, arms crossed.

“Who the fuck wants to know?” he mumbled as he reached for a rag to wipe the sweat from his brow. He’d been home three days. Long enough to get his old job back (he’d start next Monday), stock up on groceries for himself and Betty, and start working on Jack’s truck. It was almost as old as Sandor but had a good engine. It had just gone too long without being run. Sandor was giving it a very thorough tune-up, but some parts were seized up and needed to be taken out, cleaned, oiled, and put back in.

“Arya. So, what was it like?”

“Well, Arya. I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to talk about this with a little girl.”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m not a little girl, I’m sixteen.”

Sandor’s head retracted, “Who fucking says?”

“My birth certificate,” she snipped, not the least bit intimidated by him.

“Aye, no difference. Sixteen is still a little girl, in my book.”

“I know. My sister already said you’re not a kiddy fucker, just a murderer.”

Sandor snorted, “Oh yeah? Sounds like high praise coming from her.”

Arya giggled, “You’ve got her pegged right. She’s a bitch and a nag.”

“I won’t comment. Don’t think you should be saying that, though. She takes care of you and your brothers, right?”

Arya rolled her eyes, “I’m sixteen, I take care of myself. Bran is no trouble. Rickon is the only one that gives her any problems.”

“Oh yeah? Then how come you were the one she had to holler at to get in the car the other morning?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to go to school! It’s fucking pointless. I’m not going to be a scientist or doctor or teacher or writer when I grow up. I’m going to be an MMA fighter.”

Sandor snorted, “You better plan on growing then, girl. They don’t have a weight class small enough for your scrawny ass.”

She kicked his boot in frustration, another sign of her reckless bravery, being as she knew he had killed a man. “I’m small but I’m tough. Everyone will underestimate me.”

“Might be, but you still need to go to school. You think every second of your day will be spent in the octagon? No. You need to know how to promote yourself. How to manage your money. And if you get hurt and can’t fight again, what then? You’ll be glad you have your diploma.”

“Ugh!” she stomped her feet, “Did Sansa tell you to say that? You sound just like her!”

Sandor chuckled, “The extent of my interaction with your sister was her chasing after me with a tire iron.”

Arya smiled proudly, “She’s not really a violent person, not like you and me. She’s just protective of us since…” her smile faltered, “Anyway she’s protective of Betty since she’s old and blind and lives all alone. One afternoon some R’hollor followers were on Betty’s porch and they wouldn’t leave until Betty agreed to come outside and listen to their crazy rant about the third coming of the prince who was promised. Sansa had been out front washing the car, so she walked as far as the hose could reach and sprayed them down,” Arya laughed, “It was a riot!”

Sandor just shook his head before rolling back under the truck. He hoped the girl would take the hint, but she didn’t. Her beat-up Converse sneakers strolled around to the front side of the car, “So, what was it like to kill a man?”

“Quit pestering, girl… fuck, hand me the half-inch socket.”

To his surprise, she handed him the right piece and he swapped it for the 5/8” socket he had on the wrench.

“I’ll stop pestering when you tell me how it felt.”

“Fuck this bitch is on tight! Hand me the can of oil… no, the one with the narrow sprayer.”

“Did it make you feel powerful?”

“Girl, why do you want to know this? Want to kill someone?”

“There are lots of people I want to kill. But I thought it would make sense to talk to someone who’s done it before.”

“Who could a little brat like you possibly want to kill?”

“The people who murdered our parents, for starters…”

For the second time this afternoon Sandor bumped his head. Five years since being under an engine compartment and he’d forgotten the most fundamental rule: don’t lift your head up quickly.

He rolled out again. The girl was leaning against the truck looking too casual.

“Your parents were murdered?”

“Officially? No, they died in a car accident. Unofficially, yes, they were killed. My dad hardly ever drank, yet they said he was inebriated when they crashed.”

Sandor nodded though didn’t believe her claims. Sandor’s father wasn’t ashamed to get shitfaced in front of his kids, but lots of other parents hid their vices. “So who else do you want to kill?”

“My mom’s old friend, Petyr.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“He offered to take us in after my parents died. All except Robb who was twenty.”

“Robb’s your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“He live with you?”

“No.”

“Mm… so Petyr didn’t want a grown man mooching off him. That makes you want to kill him?”

“No, Petyr was a pervert. Always hugging Sansa, kissing her, telling her how much she looked like our mom, who he was obviously in love with before she married my dad.”

Sandor’s blood heated. He had to shake away the disgusting imagery of some blurry-faced older man kissing a teenage-version of Sansa.

“So you moved out?”

Arya nodded, “Sansa turned eighteen. She did the paperwork to become our guardian and get the house officially in her name. Robb would have done it, but he was in school. We used my parents’ insurance money to pay for the rest of Robb’s university and pay off all our parents’ debt. Sansa was supposed to start college that year but she didn’t so she could take care of us instead.”

“So why don’t you all live in your parents’ house?”

Arya scowled, “It’s a long story.”

“I got all day, girl,” Sandor rolled back under the truck, surprised that he was encouraging more of this strange conversation.

“Well,” Arya took a deep breath, “my brother Bran had been in an accident shortly before my parents died. He’d fallen out of a tree and injured his spine. Our parents were paying for the best care he could get, hoping he’d be able to walk again even though the doctors said he’d be paralyzed from the waist down. When my parents died, Sansa continued paying for his therapy. Once the insurance money ran out, we decided to sell the house to pay for more treatment. Bran was getting better, you see. Sansa said it would be a waste to have spent hundreds of thousands on surgeries and physical therapy only to stop so close to the finish line. It paid off, because now Bran can walk with a cane.”

“But you spent every penny?” Sandor called from beneath the engine block.

“Yeah, _and then some_. We all lived in this shitty two-bedroom apartment in Winter Town, but when our Aunt Lysa died a few years ago she left us this house.”

“What about your older brother?”

“He helps out. Has a good job in Winter Town, in the finance department for a logging company, but real estate there is ridiculous, so we can’t all afford to live there. Robb sends us money, and Sansa works a few jobs.”

“Aye? Why don’t you work? Get a paper route or something.”

“A _paper route_? How long were you locked up?”

Sandor chuckled, “Five years.”

“Only five years for killing someone?! That’s not so bad.”

Sandor snorted, “There is no such thing as the word ‘only’ when you’re talking about a jail sentence, believe me.”

“So did you get into any gangs?”

“No. I’m big and tough, most guys left me alone, I didn’t need to join up with anyone.”

“Did you get any ink done?”

Sandor couldn’t help but smile at the odd questions she was asking, “Aye, doesn’t look half bad.”

“What is it?”

“None of your bloody business, that’s what.”

Her foot tapped near the front wheel, “Ever fuck anybody up the ass?”

“Eww, no! Why the fuck would you ask that, kid?”

“Ever _get_ fucked up the ass?”

“Fuck no! Do I look like anybody’s bitch to you?”

“I heard in prison you’re either the fuck-er, or the fuck-ee.”

“That’s a lie.”

“But you did have to shower around a bunch of other dudes, right?”

“No, I had my own personal en suite, with lavender bath oils and pink towels.”

“How was the food?”

“Not as bad as you’d think, but I grew up eating Dinty Moore stew and SpaghettiOs straight out of the can, so you might need to get a second opinion.”

“Did you get conjugal visits?”

“That’s not a real thing. Or it is, but only for married guys, and it’s hard to get it approved, apparently.”

“So what did you do for five years? Just jerk off a lot and read outdated magazines?”

Sandor laughed, “Pretty much. There was a library. A TV room we could use one hour a day. I mostly worked out, lifted weights, jogged around the yard. Smoked when I was lucky enough to get cigarettes.”

“Did you feel bad about what you did?”

Sandor froze. His brain told him the fucker didn’t deserve his guilt. Yet the guilt was always there. And yet sometimes he felt bad for not feeling _more_ guilty. It was dizzying.

“Yes,” he answered honestly.

“Even if he had it coming?”

“He was a cunt; doesn’t mean he deserved to die.”

Sandor rolled back out and handed her the keys, “You know what a clutch is, kid?”

She nodded, “Yeah, Sansa’s car is a manual.”

“Good; go hop in and try to start the truck. Keep the brake on so you don’t run me over, I’m grabbing a beer from the fridge.”

“Grab me one, too,” she piped up as she hopped onto the front seat. A few seconds later the engine struggled but eventually turned over.

“Ah hah!” Sandor exclaimed. He grabbed himself a beer and a Dr. Pepper for the girl.

She looked down at the can with her lip curled, but Sandor spoke before she could protest, “If your sister says it’s okay, and I mean literally tells me _herself_ , then you can have a beer. Until that day comes, don’t ask again. I like my kneecaps.”

“Arya!” a voice called from across the street.

“Oh shit!” Arya flung herself down on the front bench seat of the truck.

Sansa stepped off her porch and looked around, her foot tapping impatiently. When her eyes fell on Sandor, who was standing beside the truck in Betty’s driveway, she shook her head and crossed the street.

“Have you seen a dark-haired girl?” she asked in a frustrated tone.

“Yep,” Sandor replied.

“Which way did she go?” Sansa demanded.

He lifted one finger off his beer can to point inside the truck.

“Fucking hells, Arya!” Sansa swung open the car door and grabbed Arya by the sneakers, yanking her out, “I put away all the groceries, did three loads of wash, emptied the dishwasher, fixed the lock on the bathroom door that – _once again_ – I didn’t break to begin with… all I asked you to do was mow the fucking lawn and you haven’t even done that!”

Arya was now standing on the asphalt, chin pointed out defiantly, “I’m gonna do it later. Why do I have to jump when you say jump?!”

“Later?! You said you’d do it _four_ days ago! If I wait for when you _want_ to do it, I’ll have died of old age before it gets done!”

“Why can’t Rick do it?”

Sansa closed her eyes as if trying to regain her composure, “Because Rick is twelve, and he does a shit job!”

“That’s not my fault!”

“Rick took out the trash this week which is more than I can say for you! Now go mow the lawn!” Sansa pointed angrily back toward their house.

“Whatever,” Arya shook her head as she stomped off, only to turn back around, “Oh, can you tell Sandor that I’m allowed to drink beer?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re doing!? Over here pestering the man for a beer instead of mowing the lawn?! I swear, Arya!" Sansa approached the younger girl with her arm swung back. Arya finally scampered off.

Sansa turned to Sandor and sighed, “Sorry about her. I suggest you ignore her entirely, or else she’ll make it her life’s mission to drive you insane.”

“Yeah, I could’ve used that advice twenty minutes ago.”

Sansa blushed and bit her lip in embarrassment, “I’m sorry. I’d offer to talk to her, but it won’t do any good. You have my permission to use non-lethal force to remove her from your property, that’s the best I can do.”

Sandor laughed, “Good to know. She wasn’t too bad though; she was free entertainment.”

“Yeah, she’s the life of the party,” Sansa rolled her eyes, “until it’s time to _clean up_ after the party.”

Sandor wiped his hands on a rag and went back to the garage to grab another beer, “Here. You look like you could use this.”

She arched an eyebrow, “Got anything stronger?”

Sandor held his hands up, “I haven’t had a drop of anything in five years. I’m trying to ease back into alcoholism gradually.”

She chuckled, “That’s admirable. Thanks,” she took the can and drank half of it before talking again, her voice distorted around a suppressed burp, “She can, by the way.”

“Can what?”

“She can have a beer. It may not sound like the best _parenting_ , but I really don’t care what they do in their free time as long as they stay in school, don’t get arrested, and get jobs when they’re seventeen. And help out around the house, but that’s already a lost cause.”

Sandor nodded to show he didn’t judge her parenting style. “And what do you do in your free time?” the words came out before he could think them through.

She looked at him oddly before mumbling, “What’s free time?”

He chuckled, “It’s that twenty minutes of the day you’re not working, driving to or from work, or doing house chores.”

“Ah,” she sighed, “I call that _naptime_.”

“Good for you,” Sandor nodded, “Anyway, if your yard can wait another day, I was going to mow mine and Betty’s tomorrow. I’ll do yours, too.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “Rule #1, don’t _ever_ do one of Arya’s chores, unless you’re prepared to do it for the rest of your natural life. I will let the grass get waist high before I do it for her. It used to be her job to mail the checks for the utilities, now Bran does that. It was also her job to clean the upstairs bathroom, now Rick does that. You know how embarrassing it is for your little brother to empty the trash can that has your used tampon applicators in it?”

Sandor scrunched his face, “Umm… no, can’t say I do.”

“Well, if you’re me, it’s _really_ embarrassing. If you’re Arya, you consider it an act of feminism.”

Sandor threw his head back in laughter. The girl was funny. Both girls were funny.

“Fine,” he said as he grabbed himself another beer, “I won’t mow the yard, even when it becomes an eyesore. But don’t be afraid to ask if you need help with anything else.”

Her smile fell away, “You think I’m going to fuck you if you help out with something here and there?”

“What? No. _No!_ ”

“Well why else would you offer that?” she crossed her arms challengingly.

“Um, to be nice…?”

“We live in southside White Harbor. No one is nice.”

“Well, you seem nice. Betty is nice.”

“I threatened you with a tire iron and you call me _nice?”_

“Well, yeah, but you did it because you thought I was going to hurt Betty.”

She moved her hands to her hips and stared at him for long, awkward seconds before shaking her head, “Whatever. Don’t mow my yard, and don’t give Arya a beer unless she’s behaving herself.”

She abruptly turned and crossed the street to her house, slamming the front door behind her. Sandor renewed his silent promise to avoid the crazy bitch.


	3. "Sandor Clegane does not refer to people as ‘alright’."

The following Friday Sandor was finally back in his old rhythm, just as he liked it. The only real difference was he had little desire to go out to bars, after his last experience more than five years ago. After work that day, he, Beric, and Bronn made plans to hang out as his place along with Beric’s friend Thoros and Bronn’s friend Pod. It was odd to realize that their lives had gone on while his was essentially on hold all these years. They’d each made new friends. Beric even had a casual girlfriend, though no one had ever met her. And both had settled down from their wild ways, at least a little bit. Sandor’s incident had probably been something of a wakeup call for both the men, and that didn’t bother Sandor in the least.

Sandor and Beric hopped out of his pickup around 7:45 that night just as Bronn, Pod, and Thoros pulled up in an Uber. That was a thing, apparently. No one used cabs anymore, they used their phones to message strangers who used their personal vehicles to drive people around. Sandor didn’t think it sounded even remotely safe, but apparently everyone else took it for granted and it was putting the cab companies out of business.

As the guys unloaded two cases of beer, three pizzas, and a platter of hot wings from Sandor’s truck, he noticed Sansa walking to her car. Sandor hadn’t seen her since the awkward encounter in the driveway – he left early for work, and her car was usually gone when he got home – but he did a double-take when he saw her now. She was wearing a short black sequined dress and black heels. Her curly hair was pulled to one side in a very sexy ponytail, and once again she had her phone pressed between her cheek and shoulder. She seemed oblivious to the men’s presence as she spoke, “You said you’d be home tonight to make dinner for Bran and Rick!”

Sandor rolled his eyes; obviously Arya was continuing to shirk her responsibilities.

“I can’t wait, I’m going to be late as it is, Arya!”

…

“Fine, just get here as soon as you can, alright?” Sansa unlocked and yanked her car door open, only to back away while uttering a litany of curses, “Dammit, Arya, my car smells like a fucking Phish tour bus!”

Beric and Bronn laughed at the conversation, earning a glare from Sansa who’d finally noticed them. She shook her head in admonishment and continued giving Arya an earful, “You know how many cops are out patrolling when my shift is over?” She stomped back toward the house, returning several seconds later with a can of air freshener which she promptly sprayed in her car.

“You’re not even supposed to drive it without me with you!”

…

“Oh, so you just sit in my car to bake up? That’s even better.”

…

“Whatever, but can you _at least_ leave the windows cracked next time, or is even _that_ too much to ask?”

…

“Just get your ass home and make some fucking dinner, alright? I don’t want Rick burning the house down.”

Sandor was trying to goad his friends into the house, but they were all too wrapped up in watching the pretty girl with the dirty mouth. All except Pod, who’d scampered inside like he was afraid Sansa would bite.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Sansa spit at Beric and Bronn.

“Nope,” Bronn answered casually.

Beric was more polite, “Allow me to offer my assistance,” he bowed dramatically, “I think we can survive with one less pizza, how about you take one for your brothers?” he pulled a pizza box off the stack Bronn was holding.

“Shove it up your ass, Beric,” she muttered as she got in her car. Thoros and Bronn ‘oohed’ in mock affront as she sped away.

As Beric strutted past, Sandor pinned him with a scowl.

“What? I was just being chivalrous to a damsel in distress.”

Bronn smacked his shoulder, “She wasn’t wearing a ‘will fuck for pizza’ sign, so I don’t know why you bothered.”

Sandor kicked the door shut behind them before setting down the cases of beer.

“What, me?” Beric asked as he dove into the wings, “Sansa and I are friends; it’s just our friendly little repartee.”

“Yeah, sounded _real_ friendly,” Sandor spoke as he twisted off a bottle cap. After drinking half the bottle he tried to downplay his interest while asking about Sansa, “How do you know her, anyway?”

“From here, the diner, the club…”

“What do you mean from _here?”_

“Once when I came over to check in on the place, she was moving in. I introduced myself, welcomed her to the neighborhood, and offered to help haul boxes. It was just her and her older brother doing all the work, the three younger ones were pretty useless.”

“Still are from the way it sounds,” Sandor griped.

Bronn’s head shot up, “You’ve talked to her?”

“Aye, twice. First time she almost beat me with a tire iron, second time she told me she wouldn’t fuck me, as she thought I was angling for when I offered to mow her yard or help her out if she needed it.”

Bronn and Beric laughed heartily. “Yep, sounds like her,” Bronn added, “piece of advice, don’t sneak up on her when she’s holding hedge clippers.”

“Trust me, I’m trying to keep my distance.”

“Good idea,” Thoros mumbled with a mouthful of pizza, “bitch sounds crazy.”

“I like crazy,” Bronn shrugged casually.

Beric shook his head, “She’s a nice girl. I’ve seen her at the diner, she’s always really polite to the old guys that stop in there for their early supper. Genuinely warm-hearted, actually.”

“Oh, so it’s only _young_ men she tries to geld with garden instruments…” Thoros smirked.

Sandor shrugged, “She seems alright. I don’t blame her for keeping her guard up, especially in this town.”

Beric and Bronn’s eyes fell on him as their mouths hung open.

“What?” Sandor asked.

“You like her,” Beric stated.

“What? No.” Sandor crossed his arms.

Bronn laughed, “You just said ‘she seems alright’.”

Pod’s eyebrows pulled in confusion, “So?”

Bronn circled his hand as if it should be obvious, “Sooo… Sandor Clegane does not refer to people as ‘alright’. Definitely not _women_. He might as well have just admitted he wants her to have his babies.”

“Oh shut the fuck up, Bronn. Unlike you, I’m capable of meeting a woman without wanting to fuck her.”

“Capable? Yes. But that is clearly not the case in regards our young and beautiful Sansa!”

“Whatever,” Sandor waved a hand as he opened another beer, “Are we going to play cards or speculate about secret crushes like a bunch of schoolgirls?”

Beric’s grin was too cocky by half, “Sandor and Sansa sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

“Wow,” Sandor stared at him, deadpan, “Were you guys always this immature, or did it just take me five years in a jail cell to notice it?”

Thoros smacked his shoulder. They’d only just met but the man was almost annoyingly friendly, “Stop teasing lover boy here. You guys are forgetting that for five years, the closest he came to seeing a woman was probably some pretty little Dornishman… he gets out and _that_ is living across from him,” Thoros pointed in the direction of Sansa’s house, “what do you expect?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Sandor groaned, “I thought I’d already paid my debt to society, but spending an evening hanging out with you lot feels like some sick form of penance!”

Pod nervously began shuffling the deck of cards, “How about we just play?”

Bronn pulled a chair out and straddled it, his chest pressed against the back, “Lighten up, Pod.”

The poor kid blushed like a virgin bride. Sandor would have to ask Bronn how he’d come to befriend him at a later date.

The evening flew by and despite his friends’ annoying qualities, Sandor enjoyed himself. There was much teasing and joking but they also brought Sandor up to speed on some of the goings-on in town that transpired while he was away. After eleven they graduated from beer to shots of whiskey, and after years of involuntary sobriety Sandor was pleasantly buzzed in no time. He told them about his arrangement with Betty, about Arya grilling him about life in prison, and about how Jorah tried not to look relieved when Sandor showed up to ask for his job back.

By 2:30 they were sufficiently sloshed and called it a night. Bronn and Sandor came out ahead, the others donated. He walked them out to the Uber they all piled into, and it wasn’t until after the car pulled away that he noticed Sansa was sitting on her porch steps, smoking a cigarette.

Emboldened by the liquor, he ambled over to her, “Did dinner get made?”

She looked up at him as if he’d asked if she’d discovered life on another planet, “If burnt popcorn counts as dinner, then yes.”

Sandor laughed. He was swaying a bit on his feet and decided to sit down one step lower than her.

“Looks like you had fun tonight,” she mumbled good-naturedly.

“Yep. Hard liquor for the first time in five years; I’m officially a cheap date, and I think I like it.”

“I thought you were going to ease back into it?”

“I was,” Sandor nodded, “but then the Four Stooges came over.”

She laughed even as Sandor thought to correct himself, “Actually, the Three Stooges, plus Pod.”

“Yep, sounds like Pod,” she agreed.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s friends with this kid Gendry who hangs out with my sister even though she’s four years younger. I thought he was a pervert at first, but actually it’s the other way around.”

“Huh?”

“Arya wants him, but he’s staying firmly in the ‘friend zone’… at least until she’s eighteen.”

“So wait… Pod’s only twenty?” Sandor scratched his beard.

“No, I think he’s a couple years older than Gendry. They work together at the metal fabricator shop by the pier.”

“No shit? I worked there for a minute before I became a mechanic.”

“That’s what you do now?”

“Mmhmm… diesel engines, mostly.”

“Wow,” she extended her hand, offering him her cigarette. It was an oddly intimate gesture and Sandor’s drunk brain didn’t know what to make of it.

“What about you?” he asked as he took a drag.

She sighed, “Waitress at the 8th Street Diner, occasional house cleaning when my friend is over-booked with jobs, and bottle girl at the Dragon Pit.”

“The Dragon Pit?”

“Yeah, fancy place on the upper east side. Opened about six years ago.”

“You like it?” he asked, even as his eyes were drooping from tiredness. He was awake at 5:30 that morning, had a long day at the shop, and was now running on fumes.

“Which one?”

Sandor shrugged and passed back her cigarette.

“I like the diner best, I guess. Though I make really good tips at The Pit.”

“Why don’t you like it?” Sandor pointed at her dress, “Get to dress up, go to a fancy place, get good money.”

She rolled her eyes, “…get spilled on by drunk patrons, have my ass grabbed about every five minutes, and some guys think they’re in a strip club, shove bills down my dress.”

“Mother fuckers!” Sandor uttered, “Who are they? I’ll break their fucking hands.”

Sansa laughed, “Relax, big guy. We have bouncers for that. It’s not so bad. So loud and crowded and busy that you don’t have time to stop and pout about some guy trying to fondle you.”

She outed her cigarette in an old coffee can filled with sand, “I’m going to bed. Can you make it home or should I call you a cab?”

He snorted, “I can make it,” he stood up and took two steps back to prove his point.

She arched an eyebrow, “If you fall, please do it _beyond_ my property line, okay?”

He gave her a military salute then turned on his heels and walked back to his house. If he were sober, he’d have commended himself for having a normal conversation with a woman. As it were, he fell face first onto his couch and didn’t wake up until he heard shouting the next morning.


	4. "I’m not Betty fucking Crocker.”

“Bloody hells,” Sandor growled as he opened his eyes. The sun was blinding, his mouth was dry and sour, and his head was pounding.

He stumbled into the kitchen and guzzled a glass of water, using tremendous willpower not to puke it back up.

After his stomach stopped churning, he walked to the front door, ready to raise hell with whoever woke him from his deep slumber. When he stepped onto his porch, he saw Arya was in her front yard wrestling with a kid he assumed was the youngest brother. They were of a similar size though Sandor suspected Arya was several years older. They were shouting curses at each other, kicking and elbowing and taking turns putting the other in headlocks. Sandor turned to the right, noticing Betty was looking back in his general direction, “I told you they were hellions,” she offered by way of explanation.

Sandor was about to turn around and find cotton balls to put in his ears and pass out for another hour, or five, when Sansa’s car pulled up. She jumped out and ran toward the bickering siblings.

“I was gone for forty-five minutes and you’re out here brawling in front of the whole Gods damned neighborhood?!” She yanked Arya by her collar, but the girl was rabid, continue to claw and kick at her brother. When the kid tried to retaliate, he missed and caught Sansa in the chin. After looking shocked for a moment she dropped her hold of Arya and grabbed her brother by the shirt, using her weight to roll him onto his belly while whacking at his butt over and over again like a mother who was at her wit’s end. Arya meanwhile was trying to pull Sansa back, not out of concern for her brother but because she wanted him for herself.

Sansa looked up at Arya, “What the hell is going on!?”

“He stole my Dornish sword!”

“I didn’t steal it!” the kid shouted while trying to squirm away from Sansa. She let him go and he ran to the porch, looking like he wasn’t sure which woman to be more afraid of.

“Yes you did you little shit!” Arya yelped.

“I only borrowed it to show my friend at school!”

Sansa smacked her forehead, “Rick, you can’t bring a sword to school!”

“I know, San, I was going to show it to him after school.”

“So why didn’t you just ask?” Arya spat, “Why did I have to find it under your bed with your dirty underwear and empty soda cans?”

“Rick, I told you to clean your room on _Tuesday_!” Sansa yelled in exasperation.

“I did! I just didn’t clean under my bed!”

Sansa pointed at him with a stern finger, “You made me buy you new underwear! If I go up there and find a dozen pair under your bed, so help me Gods…”

“He also has a magazine under there,” Arya spoke proudly with her hands on her hips, “very _educational_ by the look of it.”

“Arya!” Rick flew off the porch and tackled Arya to the ground. Sansa wrapped her arms around his chest and tried to yank him back but the two were tangled up like a pair of baby squirrels who’d rolled through tree sap.

Despite his throbbing headache Sandor stomped across the street and used his strong arms to literally pry them apart, shoving Rick into Sansa’s arms as he held onto Arya.

“You seriously going to fight like a bunch of Wildlings out here?”

“Yes!” they spat in unison.

“Doesn’t your sister have enough stress, working three jobs and taking care of you? You think she needs to come home and deal with this shit!?”

“But—” they spoke again simultaneously.

“No but’s! Grow the fuck up. You’re sixteen, Arya. Act like it. And you, Rick, you should be acting like a man, helping your sister.”

“Are you the murderer?” Rick asked, more confusion than fear behind the words, but they stung, nonetheless.

Sansa’s eyes widened but Sandor ignored her, “Yeah, and I’m not opposed to doing it again the next time I have to wake up to what sounds like a pair of angry raccoons fighting over a trash can!”

He threw Arya over his shoulder and carried her to his porch. He sat her down roughly on the bench chair and told her not to move until she’d cooled off. He went inside, swallowed three ibuprofens, and collapsed on his couch.

…

He didn’t see any more of the Stark family the rest of the day, though admittedly he spent most of it watching TV and recovering from his first hangover in five years.

Sunday afternoon he was going through Betty’s garage. She had told him he could take whatever tools he wanted but asked that he sell the rest and split the proceeds with her. He was sorting through duplicate tools when he heard footsteps. Sansa’s red hair looked like spun copper in the sun as she approached, but the look on her face made him fear for his life. She plopped a tray of something on the workbench and crossed her arms, “You’re not their father or their brother. You have no right to manhandle Rick or Arya. Do you understand me?”

He rolled his eyes, “Look, train your bloody pets, or else don’t be surprised if your neighbors complain about all the barking.”

Her mouth dropped open, “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

“No? How about instead of smacking your brother’s tushy with your delicate little hand you get a belt and teach him something he’ll have a hard time forgetting?”

“Fuck you! Because I don’t beat my kids… ugh, my siblings… you think I’m a bad parent?”

“Well clearly they have no respect for you! No fear for you! You know what my dad would’ve done if me and my brother were behaving that way?”

She rolled her eyes, “Let me guess, something really cruel.”

“Damn right! And believe me, it worked.”

“Did it?” she arched her eyebrow.

“Of course it—” Sandor registered her words. He grew up to be a violent young man who ended up in prison for manslaughter.

She held his gaze until he dropped his eyes.

With a sigh she stepped forward, “Anyway, I was _going_ to say you can’t manhandle my siblings, _but…”_ she picked up the dish she’d brought over, “I’m sorry that they woke you up. I’m sure you felt like shit after Friday night. And… well… I think your words got through to Rick. He’s actually been really behaving himself; even washed the dishes last night after dinner and took the garbage out without being asked. So… thanks.” She held out the container.

“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

She rolled her eyes, “Poison brownies.”

He pried open the lid and was greeted by the most pleasant aroma of chocolate fudge and walnuts.

She was blushing when he looked back at her, “If you don’t like sweets just give ‘em to your friends or something… just don’t tell Tweedledee and Tweedledum that I made them… if they find out I can bake then they’re gonna hit on me even more than they already do.”

Sandor chuckled, “I assume you mean Bronn and Beric?”

“Yeah, them. Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say.”

She turned to leave but Sandor called after her, “Hey, um, thanks. I do like brownies. Don’t have a big sweet tooth, but I like brownies and apple pie.”

She shook her head, “I’m not baking you an apple pie. I’m not Betty fucking Crocker.”

He was, once again, stunned by her reaction. Did she think he was asking her to bake _more_ for him? He didn’t even feel like he deserved the brownies.

“Um… that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Whatever, see you later.” She walked back across the street as Sandor scratched his head. He had a strange feeling that this girl would be the death of him, one way or another.


	5. “Tell that to Mr. Peanuts.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Jon, Gendry and Tormund, yay!!!

“You got plans tonight?” Beric asked while he and Sandor stood behind the shop enjoying a quick smoke.

“What do you think?” Sandor grumbled.

“Bronn and I were talking about going out.”

Sandor shook his head, “Not ready to go to a bar yet.”

He’d been out for seven weeks and was keeping a low profile. He worked, occasionally went for pizza or burgers after work with the guys, but wasn’t doing much socializing. He got enough cautious glares when he went to the grocery store; he could only imagine how people would react if he walked into a bar. Probably run for cover.

“It’s not a bar, it’s a club.”

“Then I’m _definitely_ not interested.”

“Come on… it’s dark, filled with scantily clad women, and they make really good drinks.”

“No thanks.”

“Come on! You going to keep punishing yourself or start living again?”

“I didn’t like clubs _before_ I got locked up, what makes you think that’s changed?”

“Fine. How about this?” Beric gestured toward the trash can some twenty-five feet away, “If I can make this shot, you come out with us tonight. If I miss, I’ll never ask you to go to a club again.”

“Forever?”

“Forever,” Beric nodded.

Sandor considered his odds. With only one eye, Beric’s depth perception couldn’t be great. One awkward night at a dance club versus a lifetime of being hassled about going out…

“Deal,” Sandor responded. They shook on it and Beric took his stance, ready to flick his cigarette butt.

As it soared through the air Sandor cursed before it even reached the target.

“Hah!” Beric gloated. Sandor scowled as Beric smacked him on the shoulder, “I’ll get an Uber and pick you up at ten.”

“Ten? Why so late?”

Beric snorted, “Well, grandpa, that’s when young people go out. Sorry, is it past your bedtime?”

“Whatever,” Sandor flicked his own cigarette toward the can, growled when it missed by inches, and pulled open the door to go back inside and finish out the workday.

He was home at 5:30 and decided to take a nap. At nine he got up and found the nicest clothes in his closet other than the one suit he owned, which probably wouldn’t even fit him since he’d bulked up while in prison.

Dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a black t-shirt he sat on the porch waiting for Beric to show up. Beric was ten minutes late – no surprise – and seemed to have already been imbibing. Sandor himself had taken two shots of Jack while waiting. He couldn’t stand going to nightclubs. What other guys liked about them – loose women, loud music, and over-priced cocktails – were the very things he despised.

Twenty minutes later they were let out in front of a renovated industrial building with a bright red sign: _The Dragon Pit._ Standing on the sidewalk Sandor’s mouth fell open, “This is where Sansa works on Friday nights.”

Beric nodded, “Yeah, so?”

“So she’s going to think we came here because of her.”

Beric shrugged, “Or, like a _sane_ person, she’ll assume we came here because it’s the only decent club in White Harbor… ya know, the type where people don’t get stabbed in the bathroom?”

Bronn strutted up to them, “What’s the big guy looking so sour for?”

“Didn’t know we were coming to Sansa’s place of employment.”

“So, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing; let’s bloody go so I can get this over with,” Sandor mumbled as he walked past them.

There was a line to get in, but Bronn cut to the front and spoke to the bouncer, “Hey Rod, busy night?”

“Mmhmm,” Rod mumbled back, seemingly disinterested. Bronn passed him a folded bill and Rod pulled the door open for the three men.

Once inside they quickly spotted Thoros by the bar. He held up his hands, each of which was wrapped around a bottle of beer. Thoros and Beric introduced Sandor to another fellow who had unkempt red hair and a beard to match. His name was Tormund, and he had been flirting shamelessly with a pair of women seated at the bar when Beric interrupted to make the introduction. Sandor quickly ordered a bourbon neat. The flashing lights and loud dance music were already making him feel completely misplaced.

Sandor was trying to figure out how soon he could leave without being taunted by his friends. He thought two hours would be enough, that way they couldn’t make any Cinderella jokes about him hurrying to get home before midnight.

After a few minutes Pod showed up with a young man Sandor didn’t recognize. Even in the dark Sandor could see the kid’s cheeks blush when Thoros, Beric, and Tormund started slapping him on the shoulder and clapping loudly. Tormund hooked his arm around the kid’s shoulders and spoke to Sandor, “This is Gendry. He works with me and Pod, and today is his 21st birthday!!”

“Wait – _Gendry_?” Sandor almost spit out his bourbon.

The kid’s blue eyes widened, “Yeah… do I know you?”

“You hang out with Arya Stark, right?”

Now Gendry’s eyes were practically popping out of his head, “I’m just her friend, I swear!”

“Relax kid, that girl can clearly take care of herself.”

“How do you know her?”

“I live across the street from her.”

“Ohh…” Gendry nodded, “You’re the one who just got out of prison, right?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Yeah, also known as Sandor Clegane,” he held out his hand and Gendry shook it.

Bronn threw his arms around both Sandor and Gendry, “Tonight we’re celebrating Gendry coming of age and Sandor’s freedom! Come on, I reserved one of the private rooms.”

Sandor was relieved to be getting away from the crowd. The place was packed, and he was already feeling claustrophobic. As they were walking back, another man jogged up to their party and punched Tormund in the arm, “Couldn’t wait for me, ya crazy fucker?”

“Jon!” Tormund smiled and scooped the smaller man up into a bear hug, “Come on, I’ll make introductions once we’re in the room.

“I’m gonna hit the head, I’ll meet you back there,” Jon shouted back over the music before heading in the opposite direction.

The back room was nice. It had dark gray walls and three large leather sofas. There was a TV playing a basketball game on mute while wall speakers played music at a tolerable volume. With the door closed the sounds of the club were reduced to a distant thumping bass. The men were chatting amiably when the door opened and a feminine voice cut through, “Hi Gentleman, I’m San—” she looked up to see the men she’d be waiting on for the evening, “Oh fucking balls! Have I died and gone to one of the seven hells?!”

The rest of the men laughed but Sandor’s mouth had gone dry. With the overwhelming atmosphere of the club, plus the distraction of meeting Tormund and Gendry, Sandor had forgotten to look around for Sansa. Now she’d literally be waiting on him all night. It felt wrong.

Tormund stood up and placed his hand over his chest, “This the she-wolf?”

“Yep,” Bronn answered, “And watch out, her claws are sharp.”

While Sansa rolled her eyes Tormund walked up to her and clasped her hand, bringing it to his bearded lips for a kiss. Sandor wanted to throttle the fucker.

“This must be the mad ginger,” Sansa responded, unimpressed by his suave display.

“Please tell me that’s your natural hair color,” Tormund practically begged.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sansa answered as she rested one hand on her hip, the other holding a small notepad and pen.

“Oh this is all me, darling. I can prove it if you like.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she moved around him to address the others, “Alright, what’ll it be? Wait, Gendry, what are you doing here?!”

Gendry blushed again, “Hey Sansa, today’s my 21st birthday.”

“Happy Birthday!” she beamed, then walked over to ruffle his hair in a sisterly fashion, “Just don’t be buying booze for Arya, she’s on my shit list.”

“When is she _not_ on your shit list?” a voice called from the doorway. Sansa spun around and saw the young man Tormund referred to as Jon. She ran and leapt into his arms, peppering his cheeks with kisses. Sandor felt a stir of jealousy. Obviously, this was her boyfriend. It shouldn’t have mattered to him. He hadn’t spoken to her since she brought him brownies, other than a few passing “hellos”.

“I didn’t know you were in town! Why didn’t you call me?” Sansa asked excitedly.

“I was going to, but decided I’d surprise you here tonight instead.”

“Well, consider me surprised! I hope you didn’t drag poor Ygritte here!”

“Nah, she stayed up north, work’s busy. I’m only in town until Monday myself.”

“You gonna stay at the house?”

“If you’ll have me,” he shrugged.

“Always! Maybe you can talk to Bran while you’re here. He spends his whole life in front of the computer.”

Bronn snapped his fingers, “Come on, have your reunion on your own time, we’re thirsty.”

Sansa smacked his hand.

“Ouch! I thought you worked for tips.”

“Fine, I’ll bring back a bottle of Patron and seven glasses, good?”

Bronn nodded, “And a couple pitchers of Heineken, sweetheart.”

Sansa shook her head at the term of endearment before turning to Gendry. “Birthday boy, I’ll bring something special for you,” she winked.

The others oohed but Sansa had already turned to Sandor, “You’re not a tequila man, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Whiskey?”

He nodded slowly, wondering how she knew.

She patted Jon on the chest and left to get their drinks.

Beric turned to Sandor and winked, “I think she likes you.”

Sandor’s eyes darted to Jon, but he looked unbothered. Beric followed the exchange, “Oh sorry. Sandor, this is Jon – he’s Sansa’s cousin and a friend of Tormund.”

Sandor breathed a sigh of relief he hoped was not noticeable.

“Jon,” Beric continued, “This is my oldest friend, and also the one I’ve known the longest,” he elbowed Sandor in the ribs, “he also lives across the street from your cousins.”

Jon walked over to shake Sandor’s hand, “Then I offer my condolences.”

“On being friends with Beric or neighbor of your cousins?”

Jon shrugged, “Both.”

Ninety minutes later everyone was sufficiently buzzed. Bronn, Beric, and Tormund had dragged a reluctant Gendry out to the dance floor. Pod, Jon, Beric, and Sandor were content to drink in their private room. Jon told them all about the north – how he was raised there by Sansa’s parents after his mother died. Now he was in the military, stationed at Eastwatch which was in the far north. Whenever he was on leave, he spent a couple days with Robb, Sansa’s brother, in Winter Town, but tried to get to White Harbor to see his other cousins if he could.

Sandor told him about his run-ins with Arya.

“Oh,” Jon smiled, “You’re the one who separated Arya and Rick when they were brawling in the front yard?”

Sandor sipped his whiskey, “Yeah… Arya told you about that?”

“No, Sansa did.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Look man, I probably shouldn’t have gripped up someone else’s kid—”

Jon waved off his concern, “Dude, Sansa needs all the help she can get with those two. They’ve always been wild, and Bran’s no help – he just keeps to himself ever since his accident.”

“Yeah, well, Sansa seemed pretty pissed, and she’s right – I probably overstepped.”

Jon practically spit out his beer, “ _Pissed?_ Uh, she spent like ten minutes on the phone gushing about how her hot neighbor laid down the law.”

_Hot?_

Jon blushed when he realized what he had said, “I mean… something like that. I wasn’t really listening, you know how women drone on and on and on…” he sipped a beer and quickly changed the subject, asking Pod about work at the fabrication shop.

Sandor’s head was reeling. _Sansa thinks I’m hot?_ _She gushed about me to her cousin?_ When his eyes focused again, he found Thoros staring at him with a shit-eating grin.

With impeccable timing, Sansa came back with another bottle of Patron and refills of their pitchers. The other men followed her in from the dance floor as if they could smell the booze.

“Oh darlin’,” Bronn sighed, “Nothing prettier than a woman holding a bottle of tequila.”

“Really? I’d think that sight usually precedes said woman cracking the bottle over your head and thus would be very _un_ -pretty.”

Beric slapped Bronn on the back, “How does she know you so well?”

“Whatever, Red. I’m going to wear you down eventually,” Bronn plopped on one of the couches and poured himself a shot.

She turned to Jon without missing a beat, “If I’m ever that desperate, please shoot me.”

“I’ll have you know,” Bronn wiggled his index finger, “I’ve been with many women, and I’d never use that word to describe them.”

“What word? _“Women”_?”

The men roared their laughter, even Sandor couldn’t contain his amusement.

“Alright,” Sansa cut through their revelry, “I need to check on my _real_ customers, I’ll be back.”

Thoros nudged Bronn in the arm after she’d walked out, “Just to put into perspective how serious her disapproval of _you_ is, Sansa thinks Sandor is hot.”

After several close calls that night, someone finally spit their drink out for real. Bronn was choking on his beer while Beric smacked him on the back. Sandor was simultaneously embarrassed and amused. Jon was hiding his eyes behind his hand.

Deciding to steer the topic off of Sansa, Sandor turned to face Gendry and Pod, “Alright, I gotta know – why the hell are you hanging out with a bunch of old blokes like them?” he pointed toward Beric, Tormund, and Bronn.

“Lack of options,” Gendry muttered around his beer.

Sandor chuckled, “Aye, I grew up in White Harbor, I get that. But really, _this_ was the best you could find?”

Pod shrugged, “All the guys our age are into using or selling drugs, or they’re always in trouble with the cops. We’re not into that. We have good jobs and don’t want to lose them.”

“Wow,” Sandor nodded, “Five years ago I’d have said this bunch was guaranteed to get you into trouble. I guess they really _have_ grown up.”

“Nah,” Beric scrunched his nose, “We just didn’t want to end up like you.”

Sandor tipped his cup, “I don’t blame you.”

The evening went on like this for hours… good natured ribbing, dirty jokes, sharing stories of all the fucked-up stuff they did when they were younger. No matter how much you tried to stay out of trouble, it would find you eventually in White Harbor. Even Pod and Gendry, who seemed like a pair of strait-laced kids, had their run-ins with the law when they were teenagers.

Pod started laughing, “Remember the Starks’ house party last year?”

Gendry buried his head in his hands, “Oh Gods, I wish I could forget!”

Sandor leaned forward, “What happened?”

Pod smirked, “Well it was supposed to just be like, maybe fifteen people – friends of Arya and Sansa. But by midnight there were like a hundred people there. I mean it was fucking _insane_. People were puking in the front yard, fucking on the back steps, smoking up in the kitchen... The cops showed up twice but each time they left after Sansa promised the party would be over soon.”

Gendry picked up the story, “And she really tried, too. Starting at 1 AM she was going around, nudging people awake, telling everyone to get out. Most didn’t listen to her, so she asked me to help, thinking maybe they’d listen to a guy more than a girl. A few people started clearing out of the house, but most were too fucked up to care.”

Pod nodded, “So by like 2 o’clock Sansa’s pissed, and she threw her hands up and was like, _“fuck it, I’m going to sleep!”_ and stomped up the stairs to go to bed.”

“Oh, side note,” Gendry added, “Sansa’s bedroom is her sanctuary. Arya – who, for context, has _no_ respect for anything in that house – told me the first time I came over that if I even stepped foot in Sansa’s bedroom her sister would kill me. Like, _literally_ kill me.”

“Yeah,” Pod snorted, “So me and Gendry are in the living room and all the sudden we hear a commotion upstairs, and Sansa’s screaming bloody murder. Then these two guys come flying down the stairs, bare ass naked, and Sansa is chasing after them with her shotgun.”

Jon and Tormund – who seemed to have heard this story before – laughed. Bronn, Thoros, Beric, and Sandor gasped.

Gendry couldn’t stop laughing, “So of course, Sansa comes downstairs looking like a madwoman holding this shotgun, and everyone just fucking _runs_ toward the front door and back door all at once. I mean they _scatter_. It was like rats on a sinking ship looking for higher ground… I mean people are literally tripping over each other and trying to squeeze through the doorway three at a time. But then there are all these people still on the porch and in the front yard absolutely hammered who have no idea what’s going on. Me and Pod are yelling at them all to leave, ‘cause we honestly think she’s going to kill someone, either on purpose or accidentally. But no one’s listening, so finally Sansa points the gun up—”

“Wait!” Pod interrupted, “You skipped the best part.”

“Huh?” Gendry looked puzzled, before his grin widened again, “Oh yeah, so the two naked guys, when they ran past us in the living room, one of them had a condom hanging out of his ass. Like, when Sansa barged in with her shotgun, he must have clenched so hard he pulled it right off the other guy’s dick.”

Half the men groaned, the other bawled out laughing.

“So?!” Beric asked, “Did she shoot the gun?”

Pod nodded, “Oh yeah, pointed it up at the big oak tree and fired. And everyone scattered like roaches. I mean there went from being at least sixty people in her front yard to it being just us, Sansa, Arya, and Rick in like five seconds.”

“Holy fuck,” Bronn whistled, “She _is_ crazy.”

Pod was laughing so hard he couldn’t even speak. Gendry was gasping for air, “Ok, so _my_ favorite part of the story, is the next day we were all picking up trash and beer bottles in the yard, and there beneath the oak tree was a squirrel – shot dead.”

Pod nodded, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, “Yeah, and Sansa, who was willing to commit homicide the night before, cried when she saw it. She made us put it in a shoebox and bury it in the back yard. Sansa eulogized the fucking thing!”

The men were in stitches. Sandor’s abs hurt from laughing so hard. Sansa came into the room to announce last call, but once she took in the sight, she tapped her foot like an angry Septa, “What the hell did you guys take?”

“Not a damn thing, sweetheart!” Bronn laughed, “The young lads just told us about a certain house party last year…”

“Gendry Waters and Podrick Payne!” Sansa scolded, which only made the men laugh harder.

Sansa’s cheeks were red with fury, “They were having anal sex _in my bed_! On my pink sheets I’d literally just washed that day! They didn’t stop so I had to get out my gun!”

Gendry was croaking, “Tell that to Mr. Peanuts.”

Sansa’s face became deathly serious, “How _dare_ you bring up Mr. Peanuts?!”

Sandor held his hands out as he tried to catch his breath, “Wait… wait… you named a _dead_ squirrel?”

“He was an innocent bystander! He deserved to be honored in some way!” with a righteous swirl, Sansa left the room.

…

The cackling didn’t stop until closing time. As they headed out Jon stopped Sandor, “Hey, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes for Sansa, we can drive home with her.”

Sandor nodded and lit a cigarette, saying bye to the other men as they piled into a minivan taxi to head to their respective homes.

Jon leaned against the building, “She’s not _really_ crazy, you know.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes, “Not my business if she is.”

“I know, just… she’s had a lot of shit piled on her since her parents died, plus Bran’s accident. She had to grow up way too fast. And Arya and Rick don’t make it any easier.”

“Yeah,” Sandor inhaled his cigarette, “I figured that.”

“She actually was always the good one in the bunch. Never got in trouble. Straight A student. She was getting a full ride to Vale University, then the accident happened.”

“Wow… that sucks.”

“Yeah. Rick was only five when it happened, Bran seven, Arya nine. Robb offered to put his studies on hold, but Sansa said that was foolish – he was only two years from graduating, it would take her four… plus, well I guess we all thought Sansa would do a better job raising the kids than Robb.”

Sandor grunted. He didn’t know what else to say.

A few minutes later Sansa emerged, “Ready?” she looked between both men.

“Yeah, I told Sandor he could ride with us.”

“Makes sense,” Sansa smiled.

Before Sandor could beat him to it, Jon had taken the back seat, leaving Sandor to sit up front with Sansa. Sandor thought he saw a smirk on Jon’s face, but wasn’t certain.

As she buckled her seatbelt, she turned to look at them, “So you boys all had fun tonight.”

Jon snorted, “Yeah, it was good to get out.”

Sandor nodded in agreement, surprised that he _actually_ agreed.

Sansa was chewing her lip as she looked at Sandor, “For the record, I didn’t _mean_ to kill the squirrel.”

He chuckled, “Don’t worry, I don’t think any less of you.”

“I really love animals. More than people, I think.”

Sandor raised his eyebrows, “I know the feeling.”

Throughout the ride, Jon and Sansa caught each other up on their respective lives. Sandor listened contently. Every time Sansa giggled, he found himself smiling.

When they pulled up at Sansa’s house, Sandor debated within himself. Jon headed straight for the door, saying mischievously that he was going to wake up the kids, and Sandor decided to take a gamble. “Hey, Sansa.”

She turned around, “Yeah?”

“Um… it was kind of weird, you waiting on me… _us_ … all night.”

She waved him off, “I’ve waited on Beric, Bronn, and Pod before… it’s no big deal, I just like to give them shit.”

“I know, um… I just meant…” his courage wavered, “I just meant to say thanks and if you ever need anything, let me know.”

This time instead of lobbing an accusation at him she bit her lip to repress a smile, “Thanks.”

With a final tip of his head he turned around and headed toward his house. He had wanted to offer to make her dinner or take her out to eat. But who was he fooling? Even if she found him hot for some inexplicable reason, she had her hands full and didn’t need anything else on her plate. Besides, if they tried to go on a date and it didn’t go well, it would be awkward as fuck every time they saw each other.

Sandor walked into his dark house, which felt far too big for one person, and laid on the sofa. The bed would only feel lonely and empty. He’d gotten used to a narrow bunk in prison, so the narrow sofa suited him fine. When he closed his eyes, he kept seeing Sansa in her black dress, biting her lip. He fell asleep with this vision within his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to any who choose to read this crazy fic - I'm posting a bunch of chapters so you can get a feel for whether this is your cup of tea. Don't expect future updates to be as frequent. I have 50,000+ words already written and am working on wrapping it up in no more than another 50,000. Hopefully. Maybe. :)


	6. 'Are you like this around all women or only the hot ones?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my personal favorite chapter so far.

Sandor beat on the Starks’ door ten minutes after he saw Sansa pull away in an Uber on her way to work. That was three minutes after he saw her cursing and kicking her car for not starting. Even from his front window he could see she was quickly sweating through her blue diner uniform. The heat was oppressive. The weather forecasters on the Citadel station were insistent that autumn would be making an appearance in six months, but it was hard to believe that on days like this.

He heard footsteps stomp across the house, then Arya yanked the door open with a baseball bat in her right hand. When she saw who her unexpected visitor was, she rolled her eyes, hung the bat on a hook by the door, and ran back toward the kitchen. She shouted back over her shoulder, “Can’t talk, I don’t want to burn the French toast.”

Sandor took a cautious step into the house. He’d been their neighbor for about five months but had never seen the inside of their house. Not that that was unusual. Of all the neighbors, he only had been inside Betty’s house, and that to unclog her kitchen sink drain two months ago.

The large living room could have belonged in a frat house if it weren’t for certain feminine touches. He could recognize decorations that Sansa would have picked out, but they were drowned out by the noisy clutter of PlayStation controllers, empty soda and beer cans, bags of chips, schoolbooks, unopened mail, sneakers, and – most alarmingly – a long curved sword in its scabbard.

He walked through the living room and into a kitchen, the counters of which were littered with more than enough bowls and pans to make French toast. Egg shells, spilled milk, and dirty utensils added to the aesthetic.

“Smells like you burned it before I even knocked, girl,” Sandor spoke as he leaned against the magnet-covered fridge, waving his hand in front of his face to clear away the smoky air.

“No, that was French toast _sticks_. After I burned them, I had to make regular French toast. We’re out of cereal and waffles but have plenty of eggs and bread,” she flipped a piece of French toast to reveal a blackened side.

“Looks like you burnt that, too.”

“Nah, Rick likes stuff burnt.”

“So why didn’t you give him the French toast sticks? By the way, who the hell can’t cook French toast sticks? Don’t you just put them in the toaster for, like, three minutes?”

“They were too burnt even for Rick. I put them in the toaster oven but then got distracted.”

“How can you get distracted in three minutes?”

“Well I had to take a shit. I thought it was going to be a quick one, but then I started reading one of Sansa’s girly magazines that’s in the bathroom. It’s total crap but it kinda sucks you in, ya know? Anyway, twenty minutes later we have little black bricks,” Arya pointed at a plate.

Sandor laughed as he picked one up and tapped it against the counter, “You saving this for some reason? Bird food? Hockey puck? Deadly weapon?”

“Hah hah… RICK!!! Breakfast is ready!!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. Sandor covered his ears and a minute later Rick came barreling down the stairs. His curly hair reminded Sandor of an old-fashioned mop. He ignored Sandor entirely as he doused his French toast in half a bottle of syrup then began scarfing it down like he hadn’t eaten anything in weeks.

Sandor could only shake his head, “Anyway, I need your sister’s car keys.”

“Why?” Arya looked at him quizzically.

“I’m going to steal it; why do you think?”

“Yeah, you’d be doing her a favor. Maybe the insurance company will give her, like 300 bucks for it, then she can buy a nice bicycle!”

“Shut up, smart ass. I’m going to take a look at it. I heard her trying to start it this morning. Could just be the battery, but it didn’t sound like that.”

“She keeps the keys on the hook by the door. Make sure you put them back there, though, or she’ll go apeshit.”

As Sandor was about to head back out an idea struck him. Rick was shoving the last three bites of French toast into his mouth. Sandor gave him a light smack on the shoulder, “Come on, might need your help.”

“Help with what?”

“With your sister’s car.”

“What about it?”

Sandor scrunched his eyes, “Didn’t you hear what I just told Arya?”

“No.”

“So you were sitting four feet away from me, and didn’t hear a word I said?”

He shrugged indifferently.

“Whatever. Wash that fucking syrup off your hands then come out front.”

Five minutes later Sandor had returned from Betty’s garage with his toolbox, jumper cables, and a few other tools and gauges he owned only because he was a mechanic. He pulled his truck hood-to-hood with Sansa’s.

“Come here, boy. You know what jumper cables are?”

Rick looked at what was in Sandor’s hands, “Yeah, those are the things Sansa uses to tie up the tarp in her trunk.”

Sandor shook his head, “Why the fuck does your sister have a tarp in her trunk? She move many dead bodies?”

Arya chuckled as she approached from the house, “Nah, she puts it over the car in winter whenever we’re going to get snow or ice; that way she can just pull it off in the morning instead of scraping the car.”

“Hmm. That’s not a bad idea. Anyway, in addition to being a substitute for bungee cables or twine, apparently, you can use them to jump a car.”

Rick scrunched his face, “Jump?”

“Yeah. If a car’s battery is dead, you can borrow juice from someone else’s car to get yours started, so you can drive to the auto store and get a new battery. Got it?”

“Juice?” Rick looked even more confused.

“Energy. Power. Not fucking grape juice, kid.”

Sandor popped both hoods and guided Rickon in how to properly set up the cables. Unfortunately, Sandor’s suspicion was correct – Sansa’s car didn’t start after several tries.

“Alright,” Sandor wiped sweat from his brow, “It ain’t the battery.”

“Wow, you must be a genius,” Arya mumbled.

“Girl, you just out here to give me shit, or you plan on helping?”

She shrugged undecidedly, “Both?”

Sandor huffed his annoyance, “You know how to drive?”

“Yep! I’ll get my license in a couple weeks when I turn seventeen.”

“Mm… remind me to stay off the road then. Anyway, put my truck back in Betty’s driveway. _Carefully!_ Not the garage, the _driveway_. I don’t trust you to pull into a garage yet.”

Arya jumped up excitedly before hopping into Sandor’s truck after he disconnected the cables and shut the hood.

“Alright, Rick. If I’m going to be working out here, I at least need to do it in the shade. When Arya gets back, we’re going to push the car forward on the street so it’s in the shade of the oak tree.”

Rick shook his head passionately, “Sansa doesn’t park under the oak tree. The squirrels throw acorns on her windshield to avenge their brother, Mr. Peanuts. He was this squirrel that Sansa—”

“I know. I heard. I’m more worried about heat exhaustion than falling acorns, so just do it.”

With Arya behind the wheel, the car in neutral, and Sandor and Rick pushing, they moved the car into the shade.

Over the next hour Sandor showed the kids how to jack up a car and taught them the various parts that would most commonly cause a car to not start. His t-shirt was soaked with grease and sweat as he went through the process of elimination to find the problem.

“Bring me a beer, girl,” he ordered from under the hood.

“Can I have one?!” Arya asked excitedly.

“That depends: when we’re done out here, you gonna clean the mess you made in the kitchen, or is your sister going to have to come home to that?”

Arya stomped her foot before deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, “For _two_ beers, I’ll clean the kitchen.”

“Deal.”

“What about me?” Rick pouted.

“Well, you _did_ help push the car… but you’re only twelve… I’ll tell you what, we can split a beer, but you need to help Arya clean.”

Rick crossed his arms, a petulant little spitting image of his sister, even if they otherwise looked nothing alike, “If _I’m_ helping to clean, and _I_ pushed the car while Arya steered, I should get _at least_ two beers. Plus, Arya may be older, but we weigh the same.”

Sandor frowned, “Wow, that was actually a pretty good argument. Alright, one beer when we’re done here and another _after_ the kitchen gets cleaned, as long as you’re not tipsy from the first one.”

“Alright!” Rick clapped.

Sandor eventually isolated the problem – a completely clogged fuel filter. He rolled his eyes, “Arya, when’s the last time your sister had an oil change or tune up?”

Naturally, all he got was an unhelpful shrug.

“Ah, fuck. I need to run to the auto parts store to get a filter. You guys clean the kitchen while I’m gone.”

“Can we come with you and stop at McDonald’s instead? We promise to clean later!” Arya asked.

“You just ate breakfast!”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t that good,” Arya pointed out matter-of-factly.

“You made it yourself!”

“Exactly. So can we come?”

“Fine. Whatever. Lock up the house and meet me at the truck.”

Twenty minutes later, with a brand-new fuel filter ready to be put to use, Sandor pulled up to the McDonald’s drive thru. “Can I get three quarter pounders and three medium fries?” he rasped toward the microphone.

“And a strawberry milkshake!” Arya leaned over him to shout.

“And an Oreo McFlurry!” Rick called out

Sandor groaned, “Did you get that?”

 _“Yes, sir,”_ the crackly female voice answered.

“Oh, and ten-piece nuggets!” Arya shouted.

“Wait, I want nuggets, too!”

“Make that twenty-piece nuggets!” Arya practically screamed out the window.

“Fuck, kid, they have a microphone, you don’t need her to hear you from _inside_ the building!”

_“Anything else, sir?”_

“No thanks.”

“Wait, get us two Dr. Peppers,” Arya spoke in a less deafening tone.

“You got a shake!”

“Yeah, that’s for dessert. Why don’t you get a Dr. Pepper, too?” Arya offered with a smile.

He grinned back sarcastically, “Gee, can I really buy myself a soda? You’re so generous.”

 _“Anything else sir?”_ the voice repeated.

“Two medium Dr. Peppers, with Benadryl or Codeine, whichever you’ve got handy.”

The voice laughed, _“Okay, two spiked Dr. Peppers, coming up! Your total is $35.78. First window please!”_

“Thirty-five fucking dollars?!” Sandor turned to growl at the kids.

“I know, that’s why Sansa never takes us anywhere,” Rick smiled proudly.

Sandor shook his head as he mumbled, “I’m having some of your nuggets.”

When Sandor pulled up to the window and handed two twenties to the cashier, she smiled at him, “You and your kids are _sooo_ adorable!”

His mouth dropped open. Sure, he was _technically_ old enough to have an almost-seventeen-year-old kid, especially since she looked more like a fourteen-year-old, but Sandor was more stunned that the cute cashier, who looked to be about twenty, had included _him_ in the adorableness.

After his shock wore off, he shook his head, “No; thank the Gods these aren’t my kids, just neighbors.”

“Aww!” She crossed her hands over her chest, “Then that’s even _more_ adorable!”

“Um, thanks,” Sandor felt his cheeks burning as she handed over his change. He wanted to pull away, but they were waiting on the food.

“So… you live around here?” the young woman asked coyly.

Arya leaned across Sandor, “He’s taken, _bitch_. Stop flirting and go get our food!”

“Arya!” Sandor growled, but the cashier was already scampering away, only to return a minute later with four drink cups, two bags of food, and a deep scowl.

Arya and Rick dug into the bags like a pair of hyenas as Sandor pulled away.

“You didn’t have to call her a bitch, Arya. And I’m not taken.”

“So? You _want_ to be with some minimum wage skank who hits on a guy in front of a pair of kids?”

“No, I didn’t say that. But you didn’t have to be rude.”

“Whatever. I did you a favor.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

Arya sighed as if it should have been obvious, “If you _had_ gone on a date with her, and Sansa found out, then Sansa would never go out with you. She’d get all stuck in her head that you only date girls that are young and dumb and blond and have no responsibilities and no baggage.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Are you really that fucking dense?” Arya asked after slurping her soda.

“Apparently, because I never asked your sister out, nor would I.”

“Why, you don’t like redheads?”

“What? No… Sansa has her hands full. She doesn’t need an old dog like me sniffing around.”

 _“Puss-y”_ Arya sing-songed out of the side of her mouth.

“Who’s a pussy?” Rick asked without looking up from the bag of food.

“Eat your fries and mind your business.” Arya turned back to Sandor, “Look I’m not saying you need to marry her, but can’t you just, like, throw her a bone?”

“Huh?” Sandor scrunched his forehead.

Arya rolled her eyes, “Throw. her. a. bone. _Bone._ Get it?”

“You’re asking me to fuck your sister? Like I’d be doing _her_ a favor?” Sandor pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled into Betty’s driveway.

“I’m just saying dude, I get that she’s not your type. All stick-up-her-ass, nagging constantly, judgmental, takes everything too seriously… but she’s pretty, right? Can’t you ignore all the other shit and just, give her a good time?”

“What makes you think your sister wants _me_ to… to give her a good time? She’s fucking gorgeous, she can have any guy she wants.”

Arya rolled her eyes as they walked through the door and plopped on the sofa to eat their lunch, “She doesn’t want other guys. She could have fucked one of your buddies – the one with the eyepatch, or the one that walks around like King Dick, but she didn’t, right?”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t want to fuck me, either. I barely ever talk to her.”

Rick, who seemed to choose to only listen to 10% of any given conversation, looked up, “She _definitely_ wants to fuck you. She watches you out the window when you’re mowing your lawn shirtless.”

“Oh yeah!” Arya grinned and sat forward, “I caught her doing it once and when I made kissy noises, she smacked me upside the head. That’s how you _know_ you got to her.”

Sandor’s heart was thumping, and blood was quickly draining from his brain, “So… she just wants to fuck? Or, like, go on a date or something?” At hearing his own words he remembered himself and huffed, “Wait, don’t answer that. You know how inappropriate it is for me to be having this conversation with you?”

“Why?” Arya shrugged.

“Because she’s your sister. And Rick is _twelve_.”

Arya shook her head in apparent exasperation, “Look, when Sansa isn’t getting laid, she’s even more bitchy than normal, and we bear the brunt of it.”

“It’s like this,” a voice spoke from the stairs. Sandor turned and saw the middle kid – Bran, making his way down with a cane in one hand, holding the bannister with the other. Arya moved over so he could sit next to Sandor. He grabbed a notebook off the cluttered coffee table and began to draw a basic graph. He spoke in the calm and precise tone of a narrator on a Science Channel show, “There is a direct correlation to the quality of Sansa’s love life and our quality of life, in general… If the y-axis is Sansa’s love life, and the x-axis is our happiness, it’s like this,” he drew a diagonal line that moved up from left to right. “And by ‘love life’, I hope you realize I’m using a less crude term to indicate the satisfaction level of her sexual encounters.”

Sandor was dumbstruck, and not just by the subject matter. He’d never spoken to Bran. Only seen him from a distance on a few occasions. He seemed to live like a hermit.

“I thought you were the good one – your sister doesn’t give you any shit because you give her no trouble.”

“That’s true,” he spoke emotionlessly, “but I prefer the quiet. When Sansa is angry at Rick and Arya, she yells. Then they yell back. It’s a repeating cycle.”

Sandor once again realized how ridiculous this entire conversation was. He stood up abruptly, “I’ve got to finish with the car and you two need to clean the kitchen. Here,” he snatched the quarter pounder from Arya and handed it to Bran, “your _loving_ siblings didn’t mention you were home, or else I would have gotten you something.”

“Bran doesn’t eat that much!” Arya defended herself.

“Here, Arya, we can split it,” Bran ripped the burger in half, “Thank you, Sandor.”

Sandor grumbled as he went back out to work on the car. The day was only getting hotter, so he brought over two more beers and set to work. It was a simple fix, and soon Sansa’s car started right up.

He was about to crack open the second beer when Arya appeared out of nowhere and snatched it from his hand. “Kitchen’s cleaned,” she mumbled.

“Well, don’t be offended if I want to see for myself.”

Rick came out a few seconds behind her, “Kitchen’s cleaned.”

“I heard,” Sandor mumbled, “Go help yourself to a beer.”

“Thanks, dude! Hey, wanna go swimming?!” Rick asked with excitement.

“Where?”

“In our back yard.”

“You have a pool?”

“Yeah. Sansa stole it for us a couple years ago. Said it would keep us busy on days we’re off of school.”

“How the fuck did she _steal_ a pool?” Sandor rubbed his eyebrows.

Arya smiled proudly, “Well, we’d been bugging her about getting a pool all through Spring. She said we couldn’t afford it. Then one day we were driving to the grocery store. This asshole in a giant pickup truck cut Sansa off, then gave _her_ the finger when she honked. _Fucking dick_. So she followed him, and he ended up stopping at this restaurant. Sansa was just going to give him a talking-to, ya know – about how he drives a giant truck and cuts people off to compensate for having a tiny pecker, when I pointed out that he had a pool in a box in the bed of his truck. _It was fate!_ So after the guy went into the restaurant, Sansa opened her hood – she was driving an old, piece of shit Expedition at the time – and backed up to the back of his truck. The three of us pulled the box right from the bed of his truck into our SUV, then drove home. Rick had to sit on my lap in the front seat because we had to put the back seats all down, but we made it work.”

Sandor smiled, “Your sister has balls, I’ll give her that.”

“Mmhmm,” Arya smirked knowingly.

“Alright, it’s hot as fuck out here, and I gotta see this stolen pool.”

Arya and Rick led him around back. There was indeed a pool. It was only about 4’ deep and 15’ diameter, but the blue water looked very refreshing on a record-breaking scorcher.

Sandor was wearing basketball shorts, so it was easy enough to kick off his shoes and socks and pull off his sweat-soaked shirt and jump in. Rick did the same while Arya went inside and quickly changed into a bathing suit. Bran, apparently, didn’t leave the house even to go to this own back yard.

As the three of them were luxuriating in the cool water the back door slid open, “Guys, someone broke in and cleaned the house!” Sansa yelled before her eyes registered Sandor’s presence. “Oh… hey, Sandor. Please tell me they didn’t make you clean my house in exchange for pool rights.”

He laughed, “Nope, Rick and Arya cleaned the kitchen all by themselves.”

“Wow!” Sansa crossed her arms, “The living room is clean, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Sandor turned to notice Arya and Rick grinning wickedly.

Rick shrugged, “We figured since we were cleaning anyway…”

Arya shouted over to her sister, “I thought you’d be working all day.”

“Nah, I was only covering for Mya so she could go to a baby shower this morning. I don’t mind… get more money during four hours of Sunday breakfast and brunch than an average 8-hour shift.”

Arya nodded, “You going to join us? The water’s perfect, and you’re sweating like whore in a sept.”

“Nah, I need to see about getting my car towed to a shop.”

Rick beamed, “No you don’t. Sandor fixed it already. We helped and he let us have a beer.”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open. Sandor felt embarrassed; he didn’t want her to feel like she owed him anything.

Luckily, wise-ass Arya was quick to interject, “Yeah, apparently there’s this thing called an “oil change”,” she used air quotes, “you’re supposed to get it done every once in a while, and change the fuel filter while you’re at it.”

Sansa walked over to the pool, looking down at Sandor, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Sandor shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal. It’s what I do for a living… like asking you to bring me a beer… you do it all the time… I mean, fuck… not that I would expect you to wait on me… or… fuck.”

Arya snorted, clearly entertained by his inability to speak to women, “So you gonna join us, sis?”

“Well,” Sansa shrugged, “It’s that or a cold shower, so why not?” She smiled chirpily then headed inside.

“Dude, are you like this around all women or only the hot ones?” Arya sniggered.

“Shut up, alright?”

She held her hands up, “Whatever. You just seem kinda old to be stumbling over words.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I dunno… forty?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“I think my point is still valid.”

Rick rolled his eyes, “Give him a break, Arya, he was in prison for five years. He didn’t have any women to talk to.”

Sandor groaned, “Thanks, Rick, but I wasn’t good at talking to women _before_ I got locked up.”

Arya looked to be deliberating something before she spoke again, looking at Sandor but directing her words to Rick, with a hint of concern in her voice, “Maybe he shouldn’t fuck Sansa, then. He’s probably way out of practice. Then it’ll be a Harry situation all over again.”

“What hairy situation?” Sandor asked.

“A _Harry_ situation. Like, Harrold Hardyng. Hot, but couldn’t fuck for shit. Sansa was even more overstrung while she dated him.”

Sandor felt a pang of jealousy coupled with insecurity.

Rick shrugged, “Maybe he just needs to practice on someone else.”

Before Sandor could defend himself, or wonder why he felt the need to, a whir of white and red crashed into the pool, displacing a wasteful amount of water. Sansa popped up from under the surface with a mischievous grin on her face.

Arya pretended to be bothered by being splashed, “How the hell do you always run down the deck without us hearing you?”

“I wait until you’re distracted,” Sansa smiled.

“Did you hear what we were talking about?”

“No,” Sansa’s smile fell, “Why? Were you talking about me?”

“Yeah,” Arya rolled her eyes, “Because you’re _sooo_ fascinating. We were telling Sandor all about you… it was putting him to sleep, but he said he needed a nap, anyway.”

“You little smart ass,” Sansa jumped on Arya’s shoulders, pushing her under water. When she let Arya up for air, it was _on_. The sisters were wrestling in the water. Sansa had the clear height advantage, but there was a lot of fight in Arya.

When there was no clear victor, Arya jumped out of the pool, “That’s it, I’m bringing out the big guns!” Sandor watched over the ledge of the pool as Arya opened the cover of the pool filter and reached in to pull out a handful of dead beetles and other bugs that had seen a watery demise.

“No!” Sansa screamed as she paddled across the pool, trying to pull herself up onto the deck, but Arya had anticipated her move and ran up the deck stairs, ready to launch the dead bugs at Sansa.

With a yelp Sansa dove under water and came up behind Sandor, using his broad torso to shield herself.

“Time to pick a side, Clegane,” Arya spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“Um… can I be neutral?”

“I’m on Arya’s side!” Rick shouted as he grabbed Sansa and tried to pull her away from Sandor’s back so Arya could land her shot, “It’s so funny the way Sansa freaks out when you throw a bug at her.”

“Rick!” Sansa shrieked, “I just bought you a new PlayStation controller, you little traitor!”

“That was a week ago, Sansa. What have you done for me lately?”

Rick gave up trying to pry Sansa off of Sandor and instead hopped out of the pool to get his own dead bug ammo. He and Arya circled the pool like a pair of wolves. With one hand reached behind him to wrap around Sansa’s waist, Sandor kept pivoting to keep her out of their range. Eventually Sansa whispered in his ear. Nodding, he slowly backed up toward the deck, then quickly spun around and lifted her out of the pool. She ran for the back door, turning to lock out her attackers.

Unfortunately, his brave act only earned him two handfuls of dead bug hurled in his direction.

A couple minutes later the kids had calmed down and were back in the pool. Sansa emerged from the kitchen walking with exaggerated swagger. In one hand she held a tray with cans of beer on it, but all Sandor could focus on were her hips, swaying with each step like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

“For you, sir,” she cocked an eyebrow as she handed him a can.

Sandor laughed as he thought about his earlier awkwardness. That Sansa was making light of it now was clever and funny.

“ _And…_ ” Sansa held out the tray, “ _if_ you promise not to torment me with bugs, we can make our peace accord official by enjoying these ice-cold beers together…”

Arya and Rick were quick to agree, and the unlikely foursome spent the rest of the afternoon lazing in the pool together drinking good old American brewskies.


	7. “Whatever you do, never give Sansa tequila”

“Got my license yesterday.”

“Well, may I offer my congratulations to you, and my condolences to all the other motorists in White Harbor.”

“Hah-hah asshole. Anyway, it’s official – I’m seventeen.”

“Good for you… Ow, fuck!” Sandor sucked on his finger after accidentally hitting it with a hammer, “Would you beat it and stop distracting me?!”

Arya raised an eyebrow, “Not my fault you don’t know how to use a hammer.”

“Fuck off, will ya?”

It was a Tuesday evening and Sandor was working on restoring an old dresser of Betty’s. It would make a nice sideboard for his dining room, but really, he was just looking for ways to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t be tempted to drink. Social drinking was one thing, but he didn’t want to fall into the habit of weeknight drinking alone, other than an occasional beer or two.

If some part of him also looked for excuses to work with his shirt off within the sight line of Sansa’s front window, he tried not to analyze it.

Arya rolled her eyes, “An-ee-way, we’re having a party on Saturday night. You’re invited.”

“Wow… a teenager’s birthday party? Will there be a piñata? Or pin the tail on the donkey?”

Arya huffed, unamused, “Yeah, well it’s also a _Stark_ party, so there will be lots of booze and probably other stuff, if you’re into that.”

“Hell no! If the cops get called because of the noise, I don’t need to be there when they realize there is underage drinking and who knows what else going on.”

“Are you on parole?”

“No.”

“Probation?”

“No.”

Arya held her hands out in exaggerated confusion, “Soooo… how would you get in trouble? It’s Sansa’s house, she’s our guardian, no one else is responsible.”

Sandor sighed, “How many people are going to be there?”

“Why, you _shy_?”

He was but wouldn’t admit so. He crossed his arms over his chest, “No, but I like to know the odds that the cops will show up.”

“Sansa already talked to all the neighbors. Some are coming, the rest are cool with it.”

“That didn’t answer my question, kid.”

“Umm, maybe twenty people? My friends Gendry and Pod—”

“Aye, met them, they seem like good kids.”

Arya nodded, “Yeah, plus a few of my other friends. Rick’s two best friends. Me, Bran, Sansa, and you. That’s it!” she squealed.

Sandor put down the screwdriver, “Girl, you know when you’re lying your voice goes up two octaves?”

Now it was Arya’s turn to cross her arms, “Fine. Sansa told me if I invited you, I should invite Tweedledee and Tweedledum so you wouldn’t feel out of place. So they’re both coming.”

“And?”

“And the Porters next-door. And Mya that Sansa works with. Plus our brother Robb is going to try to make it. And Betty.”

“Betty?”

“Yeah, she’s cool. Oh and that guy Tormund and the other one.”

“Thoros?”

“Yeah. The one with a man bun,” Arya rolled her eyes and Sandor couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Alright. Maybe I’ll stop over. Should I bring anything?”

“Sansa and Mya have all the food covered, plus soda. Beric and Thoros are renting a keg. Bronn, Pod, and Gendry will each bring a few bottles. Tormund’s bringing the weed. The Porters are bringing ice in a kiddy pool. Probably your best bet is to bring more liquor – whatever kind you like. We can never have enough of that.”

“Alright. _If_ I come over, I’ll bring a couple bottles. But listen, just between you and I… you think it might be a good idea to hide your sister’s shotgun, just in case?”

“Don’t worry, Bran is going to hide it in his room after people start showing up so that Sansa won’t notice it’s missing.”

“Smart. So what time, anyway?”

“Whenever. Some people will be there at five-ish, to help set up, the rest will dribble in afterwards.”

“Alright. Might stop by.”

“No _might_ , bitch. It’s my birthday and I want you there,” she shot finger guns at him before jogging back across the street.

…

Sandor spent the rest of the week agonizing over whether to go to the party. On the one hand, he had a good night hanging out with all the guys at the club, and if for some reason he didn’t enjoy the party it was easy enough to walk home. On the other hand, he never quite knew how to act around Sansa. Jon said she thought he was hot, and Arya and Rick basically confirmed it, but she never seemed flirtatious with him at all. Of course, using him as a human shield in the pool was definitely _playful_ , but was it just her aversion to bugs that drove her action?

He felt like if he went out of his way to treat her platonically, she would never make a move. But if _he_ made a move, and she didn’t go for it, he’d be so mortified he’d need to move out of the neighborhood. Furthermore, he really didn’t know _how_ to flirt with someone. His previous sexual encounters were defined by some brave chick eyeballing him from head to toe, or more often, shoulder to toe, and asking if he wanted to ‘get outta here’. He couldn’t imagine Sansa doing that, and moreover he didn’t want just a random hookup with her. He would take it if offered, of course, but she was a cool chick with a great sense of humor who was smart and hard-working and had a good heart even if she kept it hidden. She was the full package, inside and out. He was an ex-con with half a face who was surprised there was _anyone_ in the world who tolerated his aloof demeanor.

He didn’t make his decision until Friday after work, and then only because Beric pointed out that if he didn’t at least stop by, Arya would be insulted.

He made a stop to pick up a birthday present for the girl, then grabbed two bottles of whiskey and two bottles of rum at the liquor store before heading home.

When Saturday rolled around, he could tell Arya was looking forward to her party because she was actually helping Sansa around the house. He saw her mow the front yard, sweep off the porch, and help Sansa unload groceries and covered aluminum dishes from her car. A woman with short black hair was with them – Mya, he assumed.

Around 5:30 he saw Beric and Thoros pull up and unload the keg. Figuring this was the least awkward time for him to show up, he jogged over to help them lug the thing around back and up onto the deck.

The raven-haired girl held her hand out as the men walked into the kitchen, “Hi, I’m Mya,” she smiled up at Sandor.

He shook her hand, “Uh, Sandor.”

“Oh, really? I thought you were one of Sansa’s other seven-foot-tall friends.”

He snorted, “Hey, I’m only 6’7”. Probably one of the only men in the world who rounds _down_.”

Mya giggled, “Anyway, thanks for helping with the keg.”

Thoros groaned, “We helped, too!”

Mya patted Beric and Thoros on the cheek and spoke to them like they were puppies, “Yes you did, and what a good job you did, too!”

Sandor addressed Sansa who was putting metal trays into the oven to keep warm, “Uh, I just came to help with the keg. I’ll get outta your hair, unless there’s anything else you need help with…”

“You’re no bother. Bronn and Tormund will be here soon if you want to stay and hang out,” she smiled at him.

“Yeah? Alright… um, well I’m gonna run back to bring over some booze and Arya’s present. But give me a job to do, alright?”

She stopped what she was doing and looked up in surprise, “You got Arya a present?”

“Uh, yeah… it’s her birthday party, right?”

“Well yeah, but everyone just considers the pot or booze they contribute to be her present. That was really sweet of you.”

“Well, whatever. You can decide whether it’s sweet after you see what it is.”

Her brow furrowed, “It’s not a handgun, is it?”

“No,” he chuckled, “Even I’m not _that_ dumb.”

“Alright, well go get your stuff, then come over and you can help Rick bring some chairs up from the basement. He’s out in the back yard setting up the tables.”

Sandor nodded and headed back to his house. He turned around and was going to ask if she needed any extra chairs from his house when he noticed Mya was squeezing Sansa’s hands and giggling like a schoolgirl.

…

Arya was not exaggerating when she said the Starks knew how to throw a party. People were lit up and having a blast, from the front porch to the back yard. The younger kids were swimming or chasing each other around with water guns. Eventually Sansa got in on the water battle, and Sandor had to take deep breaths to slow his pulse when her shirt was so soaked that he could see her bra. There were more people than Arya mentioned, but at least it seemed that Sansa or Arya knew all of them; no random strangers were pouring in, perhaps because they were still traumatized by the shotgun incident.

Gendry, Arya, and their friends were playing beer pong. Tormund, Sandor, Beric, and Thoros were playing cornhole. Bronn was dancing with any woman who would oblige him. Sansa was running around making sure everything was in order but seemed to be enjoying herself while doing it. Bran was sitting in the living room talking to Betty. The Porters and some of the people Sandor didn’t recognize were drunk debating in the kitchen.

Sometime after nine there was a friendly commotion coming from the kitchen, and Sandor was surprised to see two men he didn’t recognize yanking Sansa out onto the back deck to the cheers of everyone else. They upended her with ease and made her do a keg stand.

Once she was back on her feet, she gave both men a punch in the shoulder followed by a warm hug. When a beanbag hit him in the face, Sandor realized he’d been caught staring too long.

“Fuck off,” he shouted over to Beric. He tried to focus on the game, but his eyes followed Sansa as she dragged the two men into the kitchen. Through the large back window he could see the three of them taking shots and laughing. One of the men hung his head at some point in apparent embarrassment or shame, then made to grab Sansa and throw her over his shoulder.

With his chest puffed out caveman style he carried her out onto the deck as she pummeled his back and legs with her fists, “Attention partygoers! Who here thinks Sansa needs to _cool off_?”

Everyone cheered as Sansa cursed. The man shifted her into his arms and counted to three, each time swinging her back and forth until he released her into the pool on the third swing.

Cheers went up all around until, out of nowhere, Arya came running across the deck and shoved the man into the pool. He pushed himself up out of the water onto the deck, only to pull a wallet and phone out of his back pocket.

“Oops,” Arya shrugged with her hands up in an innocent gesture. There was a brief stare-down until suddenly the man lunged for her. But she was too quick, and instead he ended up chasing her around the yard.

From the beer pong table Sandor heard Gendry yell, “Get ‘er Robb!”

_Robb… Sansa’s older brother._

Sandor breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to refocus on the game of cornhole, ignoring the stares of his teammate and opponents. Eventually Robb must have caught Arya because, like he’d done with Sansa, he carried her over his shoulder and tossed her into the pool.

Tormund abruptly put down his beer and beanbags and ran over to the beer pong table. He flung an unsuspecting Gendry over his shoulder just as Bronn did the same to Pod. The two men were tossed in the pool. Beric turned to Sandor, “Don’t even think about it.”

“Nope… I got one better…”

Sandor found Rick inside playing PlayStation in the living room with his friends, “Your sister wants you out back for a sec, wants you to do a keg stand.”

“Seriously?!” Rick’s eyes lit up.

“Yep, come on.”

Rick ran through the house to get to the keg, surprised to not see Sansa there waiting for him. In a fluid motion Sandor scooped him up and tossed him into the pool, where a rabid Arya immediately started to wrestle with him.

Sandor wiped his hands as if having just completed a tough job, then returned to the yard. He was peer pressured into playing beer pong by Beric, who wanted to ‘show the youngsters how it’s done’.

Several minutes later someone tapped him on the shoulder as he was preparing to make a throw. He turned to see Sansa, now wearing a bikini top and cotton shorts, standing with Robb and the man who came with him.

“Hey, Sandor. This is my brother Robb and his friend Neil. They live in Winter Town. Robb, Neil, this is my neighbor, Sandor.”

Robb shook his hand vigorously, “You’re the one I have to thank for fixing Sansa’s car and getting Rick to straighten his ass out. You’re forever in my debt, man.”

“Don’t mention it. Uh – this is Beric, my friend-slash-coworker.”

Robb, Beric, and Neil all shook hands before Sansa took Sandor by the arm and dragged him toward the deck, “Come on, you don’t look drunk enough, and Neil and Robb need to catch up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sandor mumbled, marveling at how her hand felt wrapped around his bicep

In the kitchen they each did two shots of Jameson then descended easily into a conversation as they munched on buffalo chicken dip that Sansa had made.

“Whatever you do, _never_ give Sansa tequila,” Robb stated emphatically at some point in the conversation.

Sansa jabbed him in the ribs, “Oh, like you should talk, _Captain.”_

Robb held his hands out in supplication, “Oh I will fully admit that spiced rum makes me crazy, when _you_ admit that tequila does the same to you.”

Sandor leaned back, “What kind of crazy?”

“Like, thinks the TV is a karaoke machine and sings rock ballads while infomercials play on mute.”

Sansa buried her face in her hands.

“Don’t feel bad, Sansa,” Neil offered, “Robb once bumped into a lamp post and thought it was some dude shoulder checking him. He turned around with his fists up.”

“In my defense…” Robb grinned, “that lamp post was a _dick_.” Sandor and Neil laughed.

“Yeah?” Sansa sat forward, “Well in _my_ defense, the Slap-Chop commercial is just begging for musical accompaniment.”

“No,” Robb shook his finger, “Slap Chop is begging to be the name of a porn flick.”

Tormund and Thoros had wandered in, as always, at just the right moment, “It’s not even midnight, we’re already talking about porn?”

“Yeah,” Sandor rolled his eyes, “Ever seen ‘Slap my Chops?’”

“Ooh,” Tormund scrunched his nose mischievously, “Sounds dirty… Got it on DVD?”

Hours flew by in a haze of drunken merriment. When Sansa produced an ice cream cake from a basement freezer, everyone crowded around the dining room table to sing an off-key and disharmonious rendition of _Happy Birthday._

When an opportunity presented itself, Sandor pulled Arya aside, “Here, kid.” He handed her a yellow envelope. She tore it open and ignored the funny card, instead focusing on the gift certificate.

“No way! This is awesome!” To Sandor’s surprise, she jumped up to throw her arms around his neck, “This is the best birthday ever!”

Sansa had noticed the exchange and walked over, “What’s this?” she pointed at the certificate still clutched in Arya’s hand.

“A 6-month membership to a boxing club!”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “Oh my Gods, Sandor, that was so thoughtful of you!”

“Whatever,” Sandor tried to downplay his pride, “I figure if she gets her anger and energy out by training, she won’t be as tempted to attack her little brother.”

“Makes sense,” Sansa chuckled.

Sandor pointed his finger at Arya sternly, “But I know the owner, so I can have that membership revoked if your sister tells me you’re fucking off at school, or not helping around the house.”

“Don’t worry about that!” Arya exclaimed as she gave Sandor another hug, “Can you come with me the first time?”

“Sure kid, just tell me when.”

She ran off to brag to her friends and Sandor turned to face Sansa, who had tears in her eyes and was biting her lip in a futile effort to contain a grin.

“Hey, it wasn’t a big deal—”

She cut him off, “No, it _is_ a big deal. It is the _perfect_ gift! Arya has wanted to take boxing classes for a while, but I never had the time or money… this is just… it’s _amazing_.”

He was about to protest some more when her lips met his scarred cheek. It probably only lasted a second, but it felt like an eternity.

“Thank you, Sandor,” she whispered when she pulled away, a blush on her cheeks that wasn’t from the booze.

“Uh… yeah. You’re welcome.”

It was after 1 AM and the party was still in full swing, yet somehow Sandor found himself alone on the front porch, sharing a cigarette with Sansa in comfortable silence.

They started talking after some time had passed. She told him funny stories about things that Arya and Rickon had done, or things that happened at the diner or club. He talked about crazy shit that he and Beric and Bronn had done over the years. He even talked a bit about his time in prison.

Another hour went by like nothing, and Sandor checked the time on his phone. At a lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat, “Well, this was really fun. Thanks for inviting me, but I think I’m gonna head home.”

He stood up, and Sansa rose with him. She was chewing her bottom lip, then spoke down to her hands, “You can stay here tonight. I mean, if you want…”

Sandor snorted, “I think I’ll make it home alright.”

She blushed, “I meant, with _me_... If you want.”

His heart pounded in his throat. Sansa was inviting him into her bed. His mouth went dry as his palms turned sweaty. He was lost for a response, and Sansa took his silence for a refusal, “Sorry,” she rubbed her forehead, “that was forward. Can we forget I asked?”

She looked up at him meekly. He shook his head slowly, “I’d rather we didn’t forget.”

Without allowing himself to overthink it, he kissed her. It was soft at first, but quickly became heated as six months’ worth of lusting after each other from afar caught up with them. Her hands held onto his shoulders as his clutched her narrow waist. Their tongues swirled together. She tasted like whiskey and cigarettes and ice cream, and Sandor couldn’t get enough of her.

Their lips and tongues became more insistent and their hands more urgent. When his neck started aching from bending forward, Sandor lifted her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed her against the siding of the house. He kissed down her neck to the top of her breasts as she panted and ran her fingers through his shoulder-length hair. With one hand on her butt he pulled her hips until their centers were pressed together.

“Fuck, Sandor,” she moaned as his mouth returned to hers. His response was a rumble deep in his throat. Even drunk, his cock was stiff and throbbing.

“ _Please_ take me upstairs,” she breathed.

He didn’t need to be asked twice and was about to open the front door when Rick’s voice yelled from inside, “SANSA!!”

“Fuck!” Sansa cursed as Sandor dropped her down. They ran into the house and were met by the sight of Robb and Gendry trying to separate Arya from another girl. Each girl held two handfuls of the other’s hair.

“Arya!” Sansa yelled. She ran to help break up the fight just as Robb succeeded in prying Arya off the other girl.

“Fucking slut!” Arya screamed.

“Trash!” the other girl spit back. Each girl was now being held by one of the men but that didn’t stop them from flailing their arms and legs and lobbing insults at the other.

“Bottle blond!” Arya yelled.

“Horseface!”

“Putrid skank!”

“Prude!”

Sansa inserted herself between the girls, arms spread wide, “Enough!” she yelled. She turned to face Robb and Arya, “What the hell happened?!”

“Bitch was kissing Gendry!” Arya cried out.

“He’s not your boyfriend, you little _baby_!”

Sansa turned to the blond girl, “Quiet! I’ll deal with you later!”

“Whatever, bitch! Gonna get your shotgun out?”

“Don’t tempt me!” Sansa gritted before turning back to Arya.

“Whatever, pussy,” the blond spit, “Why don’t you show me how tough you Starks are?! It’s all your ugly little sister ever talks about, but all I see is a pair of crazy bitches, a retard, and a cripple!”

Sansa turned back around so slowly that everyone in the house fell quiet. You could hear a pin drop as everyone waited to hear Sansa’s response to the girl, but instead she jerked her chin at Gendry, who was still holding the girl back, “How old is this bitch?”

Gendry squeezed his eyes shut as he mumbled, “Twenty-one.”

Sansa nodded once casually, “Good. Let her go.”

With a pained groan Gendry dropped his arms, but the girl didn’t move a muscle. Sansa took a step closer, until she was looking down at the girl, “Wanna say that again?”

The bravado faded from the girl’s eyes. After long seconds passed, she lowered her head in submission.

“Didn’t think so,” Sansa wrapped her arm around the girl’s neck before she could even react and began pulling her toward the door. Sandor yanked it open.

The girl struggled but Sansa had her in a choke hold as she half-walked, half-dragged her to the door, “Keep your fake tan, fake hair, fake tits outta my house and away from my family,” Sansa growled as she pulled the girl through the door, down the porch steps, down the sidewalk, and released her just beyond the gate with a shove.

“My purse!” the blond yelped.

While Sansa pinned her with a glare, Pod ran back inside then emerged a minute later with a black purse. Sansa grabbed it and threw it roughly at the girl.

“Whatever,” she sniffed, trying to muster some dignity, “Enjoy your jailbait, Gendry!” With a defiant spin she began walking down the sidewalk.

Everyone except Sansa and Sandor started heading back inside. Sansa didn’t even turn back toward the house as she called over her shoulder for Arya.

Sandor had never seen the girl look intimidated or ashamed, but that’s exactly how she looked as she slowly walked toward Sansa with her head hung low.

“Yeah?” Arya whispered shakily.

Sansa spoke in a frighteningly calm tone, “Firstly, Gendry has made it clear that he is not your boyfriend, at least not until you’re eighteen. Until that day comes, you don’t own him, and you don’t control him. He can kiss whoever he wants. Understand?”

“But Sansa, she’s a stupid slut—”

Sansa raised her hand up to silence Arya, “Secondly, if he’s dumb enough to choose that empty-headed tart over you, then he doesn’t deserve you…”

Arya nodded reluctantly.

“And thirdly, if and when you have a boyfriend, and he kisses someone else, or lets someone else kiss him, you don’t kick _her_ ass, you kick _his_ ass, got it?”

Arya’s frown curved up into a grin, “Got it.”

When the three re-entered the house, everyone had more or else returned to partying, though in a more subdued fashion. Sandor noticed Bronn making out with Mya on the recliner. Pod was similarly engaged with one of the girls that had come with him and Gendry. Gendry ran to Arya to explain himself and apologize, but she just shrugged it off like a boss. Robb, Neil, Thoros, and Beric were laughing and drinking in the kitchen. Rick and his friends had disappeared somewhere, probably searching for Slap Chop porn on the internet. Betty, Tormund, and Bran were sitting at the dining table talking. Or more accurately, Betty was regaling them with stories from the good old’ days. Most of the others were scattered about, chatting and laughing, though it was clear everyone was starting to crash.

Sandor followed Sansa as she checked the backyard to make sure no one was swimming in the pool or passed out in the yard.

When they walked back inside Sansa slapped Robb on the shoulder, “I’m done adulting for the night. Can you make sure nobody dies?”

Robb saluted her, “You can count on me, sis.”

Tormund was grinning like a fool at Sandor.

“What the fuck you looking at?” Sandor growled.

Tormund pointed at Sansa, “Watch out for that one. Kissed by fire, that means she’s got fire in her blood. Might be too much for you to handle.”

Robb, who was clearly feeling the effects of whatever shots they’d just done, looked up at Sandor, perplexed, “You guys are fucking?”

Sansa rolled her eyes and patted Robb on the head, “Goodnight, Robb.”

Sansa led Sandor by the hand through the living room but to his surprise she didn’t turn right to go up the stairs, instead going out the door, across the street, and all the way to his porch. Sandor, confused, fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the door for her.

Without asking permission, not that she needed it, she found her way to his bedroom and plopped face first on his bed, letting out a long sigh of relief, “It’s so _quiet_ here,” she mumbled into a pillow. By the time Sandor came back from taking a piss, she was asleep. With a shrug, he yanked off his shirt and boots and collapsed next to her, asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.


	8. “You’re not a mess, just hot.”

Sandor woke the morning after the party with an aching head and a dry tongue. He peered at his alarm clock, which mocked him with the fact that it was 9:23. He rarely slept past 8:00, and even that sometimes made him feel lazy, as he was usually up by 6:00 on workdays.

He replayed what he could remember of the prior night. There was, of course, copious amounts of alcohol. There were games in the yard and several people being thrown in the pool. There was a birthday cake. There was a fight between Arya and some blond chick, then Sansa dragging said chick out to the street. He felt like he was missing something…

When he realized what it was, he sat up so fast he made himself dizzy. He turned his head to take in the sight of Sansa’s sleeping form. She still wore her bathing suit and shorts that she changed into at some point during the party – no doubt expecting another involuntary swim.

Sandor had blurry recollection of a pretty heated kiss on the porch, maybe even some dry humping. He was pretty sure Sansa had invited him to spend the night with her, and they were about to do just that when the fight broke out.

Though his head protested he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. A hot shower was calling to him, but he thought that was inappropriate given Sansa’s presence. He settled for brushing his teeth and washing his face, then made his way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. After ten minutes Sansa made an appearance, blushing when she met Sandor’s eyes.

“Coffee?”

She smiled, “Actually, I should probably get back. The kids will be up soon. I have no idea who crashed at my house, how much puke I’m going to find. You know, the usual.”

Sandor was half relieved and half disappointed – he was glad he’d have his privacy to recover from his hangover, but he worried that whatever attraction Sansa felt to him last night was strictly alcohol-induced.

But when Sansa stopped at his front door, she offered him all the reassurance he couldn’t have dared to ask for…

“So, I know when we kissed last night it was before the whole fight and… well, I get it if I’m just too much of a hot mess for you. You just got out of jail, you probably want to lay low and stay out of trouble… and I’m sure you’re not eager to get involved with someone who has three kids… but… anyway, if you want to try again sometime, I’d like that. And if you don’t, I totally understand.”

Sandor was speechless. Sansa – sexy, fun, tough, sweet Sansa – was afraid _he_ – the anti-social ex-con with a history of violence – wouldn’t be interested in her.

She seemed to be waiting for an answer, and he wouldn’t make her wait long. He strode over to where she stood with her hand on the doorknob, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “You’re not a mess, just hot.”

She bit her lower lip to contain a smile before leaving to return to her loud, crazy house.

…

“Alright, so, what _exactly_ are you asking me?” Beric wiped his dirty hands on an even dirtier rag. It was the Monday after Arya’s party.

Sandor sighed. He was completely outside of his comfort zone talking about the topic of dating and relationships, but he needed help.

“How do I take someone like Sansa Stark on a date?”

Beric shrugged, “Take her out to a restaurant.”

“She works long shifts at the diner, Fridays at the club. Her weekends are filled with taking care of the kids, the house…”

“Then offer to have all of them over for dinner. She’d like that, that you take an interest in her kids.”

“But I want to help her get _away_ from playing mom for a night. Plus, it isn’t a date if her kids are there… what am I supposed to say, “Hey Rick, look away for a minute… I wanna make out with your sister.”?”

“Then _take_ her _out!”_

“But where? When?”

Beric sat down and crossed his arms, “Crazy idea, how about you ask her when she’s free and what she’s in the mood for. Maybe she doesn’t want to go out to eat, since she works at a restaurant. Maybe she wants to play mini golf, or go to the movies, or to a bar.”

Sandor shook his head, “This is too complicated.”

Beric threw his head back and laughed, “My friend, have you ever taken a woman on a date?”

Sandor shrugged, “I’m not sure.”

Beric rolled his eyes, “I’ll take that as a _no_. Look, stop being nervous. This isn’t a blind date; you know Sansa, she knows you. You’re both attracted to each other. Take her out for a nice meal, or a movie, then bring her back to your place and give her that big cock.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Thanks, that’s helpful.”

“I can hear your sarcasm, but trust me, you _will_ thank me later.”

“Whatever.”

…

It ended up being a long day at the garage, and Sandor didn’t drag himself up his porch steps until nearly seven o’clock.

“Guess _you_ had fun Saturday night,” Betty’s voice called over.

“Huh? Uh, yeah… I could say the same to you.”

“Hmpf, I’m talking about _after_ the party. Don’t think I didn’t hear you two sneaking out, then Sansa sneaking back home the next morning… so, was it good?”

Sandor didn’t want to lead Betty to believe they’d slept together, but he was embarrassed to admit that all they shared was a good night’s sleep. He finally settled on: “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Well you’re no fun.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to find another form of entertainment.”

“Fine, fine. Anyway, I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Sandy.”

He ignored the unwanted nickname; it was already a lost cause, “What’s that?”

“You lied to me.”

“About what?”

“You said you’re not good looking. I asked Sansa and her little friend during the party.”

Sandor’s ears pricked up, “Oh yeah?”

“Yep… they said you indeed have rugged good looks. And a smokin’ hot bod.”

Sandor had frozen to the spot.

“You still there, Sandy?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

Sandor cleared his throat, “No, just surprised.”

Betty shrugged, “I also asked that loudmouth to tell me what Sansa looks like.”

“Which loudmouth?”

“The one they call the mad ginger.”

Sandor chuckled, “Tormund.”

“Right. Wanna know what he said?”

“I dunno, _do_ I?”

Betty smiled, “He said she’s smokin’ hot, too. If you come over here, I’ll give you a high five.”

Sandor obliged the old woman, who grinned widely as she somehow managed to smack his hand.

“Hey Betty, can I ask you something?”

“Sure thing, hon.”

“Um… so when you were young—”

“You sayin’ I’m old?”

“Sorry, when you were young ** _er_** … if you already knew you liked a guy, and he liked you, where would you want him to take you on a date?”

“A hotel,” she answered without pause.

Sandor’s chin dropped, “Um… _just_ a hotel?”

“Well, one with a bar, but yeah, just a hotel.”

“But wouldn’t you think he’s being presumptuous?”

Betty sighed, “Sandy, let’s not beat around the bush. You like her, she likes you. She has to deal with those heathens every day. You think she won’t enjoy having a nice hotel room to spend the night undisturbed? A shower to use without her kid brothers coming in and stinking it up? Waking up to the sun rising over the bay instead of the sound of a bunch of screaming meemies?”

Sandor laughed, “I suppose.”

“Well, there you go,” she patted his arm before standing up, “Gotta go, Jeopardy is coming on. Good luck Sandy.”

…

It took Sandor more than a week to work up the courage to ask Sansa out on a date. Calling her when they only lived a stone’s throw away seemed weak. Texting her wouldn’t give him the chance to read her reaction. So on Wednesday after work, noticing Sansa’s car was out front, he walked to her porch, and was about to knock when he heard yelling from inside.

 _“Seriously, were you guys competing to see who could get more cavities?!”_ That was Sansa’s voice.

 _“It’s not our fault we have bad teeth.”_ That was Arya.

 _“Bad teeth my ass! Do you even brush your teeth or use that fluoride mouthwash? I won’t bother asking if you floss, but please tell me you partake in **some**_ _form of oral hygiene!”_

_“I brush every morning!”_

_“Me, too!”_ That was Rickon.

_“What about at night?”_

Silence.

_“Gods! You know how humiliating it is to have the dentist look at me like I’m some type of negligent parent?!”_

_“Well tell him to mind his own damned business!”_ Arya again.

_“It **is** his business! Literally, his business. And I’m not going to piss off the guy who decides whether to take mercy on me and let me pay in installments.”_

_“I told you to wear a short skirt!”_ Arya.

_“And I told you to brush your fucking teeth at night!”_

_“Sorry, I forget!”_ Rick.

_“Oh yeah? Maybe I’ll **forget** to buy groceries. Or pay the electric bill. I’ll forget to drive you to school in the morning. Maybe I’ll forget to go to work then we can stop paying our taxes and let the city come and take the house. I’d probably get a better night’s sleep on a park bench!”_

Sandor was still standing on the porch, deciding now was _not_ the time to ask Sansa out, when the front door swung open. She looked surprised to see him there, but then her eyes narrowed again. She slammed the door behind her and walked past him down the stairs and to the sidewalk. She lit up a cigarette and began walking down the street with seemingly no destination in mind.

Sandor jogged to catch up with her, “Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

“It’s dark out.”

“I’m hoping I’ll run into a serial killer so he can put me out of my misery.”

“That bad?”

“It’s one _fucking_ thing after another.” 

“Wanna talk?” he offered cautiously. Sansa was a wildcard.

Tonight, apparently, she was feeling talkative, “Oh not much to tell. We need a new dryer, because the kids keep putting _way_ too many clothes in it even though I’ve told them a hundred times not to do it. I mean literally after running for an hour the clothes are still damp! So there’s 600 bucks. Then I took them to the dentist today after school and find out they have a combined total of twelve cavities. TWELVE! Seven for Rick, five for Arya. Bran had none, of course. So there’s another thousand bucks, and that’s _after_ my frequent flyer discount. Oh and Rick needs braces; I’m putting it off as long as I can, but his bite is crooked, and it will give him problems later in life if it doesn’t get addressed while he’s young. Bran doesn’t give me any trouble, but I know I’m failing him. I should be forcing him to get out of the house, join a fucking after school club… something… but he’s a complete introvert. He has no interest in normal teenager stuff. I don’t even know if he likes girls. Or guys. He needs to develop some social skills so he can get a job someday. He’s so fucking smart but if he can’t have a conversation how will he ever do well on an interview?”

She rubbed her forehead, “Oh speaking of Arya, she’s seventeen now and I told her to get a weekend job at the grocery store, but did she listen? No! She got a job at the convenience store that’s open 24/7. She’s going to work the 4-11 shift three nights a week, so she won’t be around to look after Rick when I work at the Pit, _and_ I’ll have to worry about her getting killed in a robbery, to boot!”

“Wow, that all?”

Sansa glared at him, “I had almost four thousand dollars saved up so that by the time winter gets here I can afford to buy a used SUV or a car with all-wheel drive, at least, but I’m going to spend half of that on the dryer and the dentist, plus Rick’s braces when I finally cave in and get it done will be over four grand. Oh, but they’ll let me pay that off over eighteen months, you know, because I can _easily_ find an extra $220 a month!”

“Alright, well look… I’d offer to give you some money, but I know how that will go. So _listen_ , instead. Arya will be fine – stores don’t get robbed before midnight, even in White Harbor. Maybe whatever nights you and Arya are both working, Bran will decide to come out of his cave and look after Rick – could be that responsibility is a good motivator. The dryer you can get a used one, your kids are only going to destroy it anyway. Look on craigslist, you can borrow my truck to pick it up, I’ll help if you want…”

“As for the dentist, tell Arya she needs to give you money out of her first few paychecks until her fillings are paid off. If she can start chipping in for groceries or utilities, you can easily afford an extra $220 a month for the braces. And if Rick can do a decent job, I’ll pay him twenty a week to mow my yard and Betty’s. Next time he wants a PlayStation controller or underwear or whatever the hell twelve-year-olds spend money on, he can pay for it himself. And when winter comes around, he can go around shoveling people’s sidewalks, try to get five dollars a pop. Or dog walking. People hate walking their dogs when it’s ten degrees out.”

Sansa had stopped walking and was staring at him in awe.

“What?” he shrugged defensively.

“I… I can’t believe you just thought of all that like _that,”_ she snapped her fingers, “I’ve been wigging out, which does _not_ help, and you just figured it all out like it’s nothing.”

He shrugged, “It’s easier to solve other people’s problems than your own. If I had kids and they came home with twelve cavities, I’d be drilling their teeth myself and filling them with plumber’s putty.”

Sansa threw her head back and laughed, “Perhaps you’re onto something. I bet they’d start brushing their teeth then!”

“If they had any left!”

Her laughter faded into a wistful smile, “I had felt like throwing my arms up and leaving for good. Now… I feel so much better now.”

“Good,” he nodded, “By the way, I know a few user car dealers. When you’re ready to shop I can come with you, make sure you get a good deal, and I can check the car out and make sure there’s nothing wrong with it. Some of the guys I know will let you make payments, even on the higher-mileage vehicles. If you have four grand to put down, you can easily pick out a ten thousand dollar SUV. I can tell you which are the best ones to get in that price range.”

She was staring at him incredulously, “Sandor… I appreciate all of this, but you’ve already fixed my car, helped with the kids, taken them to lunch one day, gave Arya the best present… I can’t let you keep doing things for me.”

Sandor sighed, “Because of your pride, or because you don’t like being indebted?”

She shrugged, “I’d like to say I have some pride left, but that’s long gone.”

“You won’t owe me anything.”

“I’ll _feel_ like I do.”

“Then you can return the favor if I ever need it. Give me a ride when Big Jack dies. Or give me some beers when I run out. Ya know, little shit.”

She looked unconvinced.

“Alright, I’ll come by the diner some day after work; you can give me free apple pie and coffee.”

Sansa nodded, “I can cook, too.”

“You don’t need to cook for me, you’re busy enough.”

“No, I mean when I’m cooking anyway, like on a Sunday. No sense in you cooking for one, you can come over and eat with us. Or if you don’t want to eat in the loud house, I’ll have Rick bring you over a plate.”

“That would be nice. I’m not a great cook. I can do steaks and burgers on the grill, really good mashed potatoes and grilled cheese, but beyond that, I’m pretty hopeless.”

“Well, just an FYI – mashed potatoes and grilled cheese are two of my favorite things in the world.”

“Noted,” he smiled.

They had turned around and started walking back toward their houses some minutes ago. As Sansa’s porch light came into view, Sandor remembered his original reason for seeking her out. “Hey, Sansa,” he spoke quietly.

“Yeah?” she turned to face him.

“Umm... if you changed your mind about wanting to try again, I mean, _us_ trying again… it’s totally fine. But if you still want to, I thought maybe we could go out this weekend. Or whenever you’re free.”

She smiled shyly, “I’d like that. I actually gave my Friday shift at The Pit to a girl who just got back from maternity leave. She needs the money more than I do, since the father is out of the picture. Anyway, that means I’m free Friday.”

“Do you work Saturday morning?”

Her smile turned mischievous, “Why, planning on turning it into an all-night affair?”

Sandor snorted, “Just want to make sure we can have fun without you worrying about getting to bed early.”

“Nope, don’t work on Saturday morning. I try not to work on Saturday or Sunday so I can be home with the kids, but it doesn’t always work out.”

“Ok. So Friday night.”

“Gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Sure, no need for surprise… you know that new hotel just east of Oldcastle?”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “The fancy one that’s like 20-stories high?”

“Yeah. Anyway, they have a nice rooftop restaurant, plus a cocktail lounge if you’d want to hang out after we eat. The restaurant has a great view of the sea, and great steak and seafood. So I’ve heard.”

“Wow!” Sansa’s forehead lifted.

“What?”

“Nothing, just… I figured you’d say beer at the bowling alley or something. But that sounds _really_ nice.”

“You sure? I won’t be insulted if—”

“Sandor!” she giggled, “It sounds _wonderful_. If we’re lucky, I won’t even get a phone call from Arya or Rick during the meal. If they know I’m on a date they might go, like, two hours without having some emergency they need to call me for.”

Sandor chuckled, but already he was hatching an idea, “Alright. So, want me to pick you up at seven? I’ll drive. It takes like thirty minutes to get there so I’ll make a 7:30 reservation. Good?”

“Can we make the reservation for eight? I’m working at the diner until five, and I’ll need to cook something for the kids, and shower unless you want me smelling like French fry grease.”

“Well, I _do_ love French fries.”

Sansa punched him playfully in the chest before walking up her stairs. “Night, Sandor. Thanks for talking. See you Friday at 7:30.”

“Goodnight, Sansa.”


	9. "You’re totally getting laid tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Sansa POV!

Sansa rushed through the door at 5:45. She got hung up at the diner and didn’t punch out until after 5:30.

As soon as she opened the door, she heard a baritone voice coming from the kitchen. When she got to the kitchen, she found Tormund, wearing her pink apron, at the stove.

“Hi dear, how was work?” he grinned.

“What…?”

“Everything’s under control… put your feet up, have a glass of wine, then go get ready for your date.”

“What?” she asked again, stupefied.

“Big man didn’t want you to have to rush home after work and cook for these mutts,” he used a spatula to point at Arya and Rick who were sitting at the kitchen table.

“Umm… Tormund, I can’t ask you to do that…”

“You didn’t ask, Sandor did. I owe him anyway – he and Beric fixed my truck for me a couple weeks back,” he handed her a glass of white wine.

Deciding not to argue and just accept the rare offer of help, she plopped onto the couch and texted Sandor.

**Me: So there’s this giant, bearded woman cooking in my kitchen. Know anything about that?**

**Sandor: Haven’t a clue**

**Me: Too bad. I was thinking I’d owe the responsible party a thank you kiss, but…**

**Sandor: Oh, wait – you must be talking about Tormund. Yep, that was me.**

**Me: I’m impressed, Sandor Clegane. Date hasn’t even started yet and you’re already wooing me.**

**Sandor: I’m an overachiever. Who knew?**

**Me:** **😊 it was really sweet. And I’m not going to worry about how qualified Tormund is as a chef or a babysitter.**

**Sandor: Don’t worry, I checked references.**

**Me: LOL… alright, gotta go get ready. See you at 7:30**

Sansa was grinning like a fool when she put her phone down and got up from the sofa. Arya came out of the kitchen looking indignant, “Okay, I never complain about someone cooking for me, but is he really staying here during your date?”

“I think so… is that a problem?”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Sansa. I’m seventeen!”

“Right… and Rick is twelve, and you have a habit of forgetting to keep an eye on him. Remember when I came home to find melted crayons in the microwave?”

“Ugh! That was _one_ time, three years ago!”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “What about the time he needed stitches on his head because you gave him a piggyback ride, fell backwards, and he cracked his head on the kitchen counter?”

“That was _two_ years ago!”

Sansa crossed her arms, “Fine. How about five months ago when I came home to find Rick puking into a flowerpot because you bet him you could chug three beers faster than him?”

“Not my fault he can’t handle his booze.”

“No, but it _is_ your fault for thinking a twelve-year old could drink three beers in under one minute.”

Tormund walked into the living room, “Why aren’t you in the shower, yet?”

“Because _sister of the year_ is telling me that she doesn’t need a babysitter.”

Tormund pointed at his chest, “ _I’m_ the babysitter?! Sandor said he was dropping me off here so that they could keep an eye on me.”

Sansa laughed and Arya cracked a reluctant smile.

“Come on little she-wolf,” he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, “Dinner’s almost ready and afterwards I’m going to teach you how to play quarters.”

“Is it a drinking game?”

“Yep.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, content to not worry about her siblings’ antics for one night as long as she didn’t have to clean up after them.

After a quick shower Sansa ran some mousse through her hair and let it air dry into loose waves. She put on a bit of makeup, not wanting to look overdone since Sandor didn’t seem like the type who would appreciate it. Plus, he’d seen her in pretty rough shape on more than one occasion; looking like a movie star for their date might seem somewhat disingenuous.

Unsure how to dress, Sansa chewed her lip in front of her closet for ten minutes before settling on a navy-blue dress. Red seemed too bold for a first date, and she was tired of black since she wore a black dress as her uniform at the Pit. Her chosen dress had a high neckline but came to mid-thigh, so it showed off her best assets. She threw on silver pumps, an oversized silver watch, and grabbed a small black clutch that would fit her phone and not much else.

It was just after seven when she headed downstairs. Tormund, Arya, and Rick were at the kitchen table where Tormund was shuffling a deck of cards. His eyes widened when Sansa came into view and he let out a low whistle.

Arya turned around, “Damn, Sansa. You’re _totally_ getting laid tonight.”

Sansa smacked her sister’s head lovingly.

“Teaching them how to gamble?” she smiled at Tormund, “You know they already have enough bad habits.”

“Nope. I’m teaching them a card trick that they can easily use to make fifty bucks at any party.”

Sansa looked down at her outfit, “Do you think I’m over-dressed?”

Tormund shook his head, “Isn’t he taking you to some posh restaurant?”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably be wearing jeans and t-shirt, which is totally fine by me, but I don’t want to make him feel _under-dressed…_ I want him to be comfortable.”

Tormund turned to Arya, “She always overthink things?”

“Always!” Arya groaned, “When she bought new sheets after the ass fucking experience last year, she stood in Target holding two packs of identical sheets for ten minutes before making a decision.”

“They weren’t identical. One was microfiber, the other was sateen.”

Three blank stares were her response.

“Whatever. I need a drink,” she poured herself a shot of whiskey to settle her nerves.

Tormund looked at her, “Why do you seem nervous?”

“Because I am.”

He scrunched his face, “Never been on a date before?”

“Of course I have. But Sandor is nice and has it all together… I’m the crazy neighbor with the crazy kids and an endless supply of drama.”

Arya mumbled, “Heard that.”

Tormund shook his head, “Wait, you think _he’s_ the one who has it all together?”

“Yeah, of course. Compared to me at least.”

Tormund snorted, “He just got out of prison for killing a man, accident or no… he’s a 33-year old recluse with no family. He spent all day yesterday and today texting me and Beric and Bronn a hundred questions. Should I bring her flowers? What should I wear? What if she wants to dance? What if she asks about my past… blah blah blah…”

“Really?” Sansa squealed.

“Uh, yeah. He thinks you’re fucking perfect.”

“Me?!”

“Unless there’s another pretty redheaded neighbor named Sansa that I don’t know about.”

Sansa leaned back against the counter and couldn’t contain her smile. She knew on paper Sandor didn’t seem like a catch, particularly due to his incarceration, but over the past several months she’d found him to be generous, smart, funny, and even courteous when he wanted to be.

There was a knock and Sansa ran through the living room, pulled open the door, and flung herself into Sandor’s arms. Good thing he was a big man, or else they’d both have taken a tumble down the steps.

When she pulled back from her hug, she smiled up at him, “Hi.”

“Hi… you did know it was me, right?”

“Actually Tormund said Bronn was stopping over, but I’m only a little disappointed.”

A low rumbling laugh escaped Sandor’s throat. That sound had made Sansa’s womb clench a few dozen times since he’d moved in, and it was having the same effect now.

“Let me say goodbye,” she pulled Sandor in by the hand.

Sansa headed upstairs, finding Bran, unsurprisingly in front of his laptop.

“Hey, I’m about to leave.”

“Okay, Sansa. Have a good time.”

Sansa sat on his bed, “You know, I’m sure Arya, Rick, and Tormund would love if you came downstairs and hung out for a big.”

“I know, but I’m good here.”

“Did you even eat?”

“I went down and ate while you were getting ready. Tormund’s a good cook.”

“Good,” Sansa smiled, then chewed her lip, “Hey Bran, I realize there may be things you don’t want to talk to your big sister about. I’m sorry that you don’t have a big brother or a father figure to talk to, except when Robb or Jon come for a visit. So maybe you should go down there and hang out. Tormund is a little offbeat, but he’s very nice.”

Bran shrugged, “I know, I talked to him at the party.”

“I know, and that’s great, but…”

“You’re worried about me, Sansa.”

Sansa shrugged, “Well… I know you’re smart, and it’s fine that you’re on the shy side, but… yeah.”

“Don’t, Sansa. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m happy.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I like being on the computer. And I have plenty of friends.”

“You do?”

“Yes, other people who enjoy coding. I meet them on forums, we exchange ideas, share code snippets, challenge each other. It’s fun.”

“But what if you wanted to talk to someone about other stuff?”

“Like what?”

Sansa smiled sheepishly, “Girls?”

Bran shrugged, “I don’t.”

“Alright. Well, promise you’ll let me know if something is bothering you?”

“Okay. This conversation is bothering me, Sansa.”

Her head pulled back, “Oh?”

“Yes. You don’t need to worry about me, Sansa. I want you to have fun on your date.”

Then Bran did something he rarely did: he smiled.

…

When Sandor walked into the kitchen, waiting for Sansa to say goodbye to Bran, Tormund and Arya were grinning at him like he’d been the subject of some prank.

“What?”

“Told you; you had no reason to worry about tonight,” Tormund smiled proudly.

“Huh?”

Arya clarified, “Sansa was all worried. About her outfit, about her not being good enough for you.”

“Not good enough for _me?!”_

Tormund laughed, “I know, can you imagine?!”

Rick looked up from a deck of cards, “Oh, hey Sandor.”

“Hey, Rick… so what did you say to her?”

Tormund sighed, “That you were nervous, too.”

“Tormund!” Sandor groaned.

“What? Now you’re both on the same playing field… you can both relax knowing you both want to be with the other tonight. She’s not second-guessing you; you’re not second-guessing her.”

Despite maintaining his scowl, Sandor did feel better. Perhaps it was cruel, but it relieved him to know Sansa was as nervous as he was.

A moment later he heard her coming down the stairs and turned to face her. Getting a good view for the first time, his mouth opened to form words, but none came out.

She smiled at him shyly, “You look really nice.”

Sandor only blinked in response. He had put on dark jeans, a brown belt, and brown boots, paired with a light gray button-up shirt, the kind you could wear untucked. His friends assured him it was appropriate, but he was having doubts as he saw Sansa in a dark blue dress that made her hair look even more vivid, and her skin like fine porcelain. Her legs went on for miles, and her always beautiful eyes sparkled even more than usual.

She gave Arya and Rick kisses on the heads, and even gave Tormund one as a joke.

“Listen to Auntie Tormund,” she called as they walked to the front door together. Some part of Sandor’s brain registered it as funny, but his mouth was incapable of laughter in that moment. As they walked over to his truck, he pulled Sansa’s hand to stop her.

“Wait,” he finally spoke.

“You forget something?”

“Yeah. I forgot to tell you that you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Or, rather, I wasn’t capable of telling you because I couldn’t get my jaw to move up and down to form words.”

Her face squished up in that so-happy-I-want-to-cry look. He knew it from movies and TV shows; he’d never been the recipient of it in real life. Her arms wrapped around his neck for the second time, and they hadn’t even gotten to the restaurant yet. Her cheek pressed against his chest made him want to forget about their date and carry her to his bed, but he fought the temptation.

Prying her off gently, he gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead; anything more and his self-restraint would snap. He helped her into his truck then got in, trying to focus on taking deep breaths as he drove them southeast toward Oldcastle.

They held hands over his gearshift. They passed flirtatious smiles back and forth. The air inside the truck was charged with desire. Sandor lifted her hand to his lips, holding it there until he had to change gears. Despite thinking things were going pretty well, he still felt nervous about how the night would go. He wasn’t one to go to fancy restaurants or to maintain a conversation for more than a few minutes.

“Why do you call your truck Big Jack?” Sansa interrupted his worried musings.

“Huh?”

“You said that Wednesday night when we were talking.”

“Yeah, um… so Betty once told me her husband was a small man, but big where it counted. And his name was Jack. And the truck is big.”

Sansa threw her head back and laughed, “How did _that_ come up in conversation?”

Sandor groaned, “She asked me how big _I_ am.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped, “Betty asked how big your dick is?!”

“No… well, yeah. She asked my height, and I told her, then she asked if I’m big all over.”

Sansa giggled, “And what did you say?”

Sandor turned to grin at her, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sansa shrugged, “I could just find out right now.”

Sandor’s mouth went dry. She seemed to have that effect on him.

She innocently played with a lock of her hair, “One hand on the wheel, one hand on the gearshift... You’re pretty helpless right now. I could reach over and do whatever I want…”

Blood pumped between his legs just at the idea of her touching him while he was driving. His cock begged for her touch while his brain knew that, under these conditions, he’d probably spill all over the inside of his boxers if she so much as stroked his thigh.

“ _But_ ,” she continued, “I don’t want to take advantage of a helpless man.”

Sandor snorted and shook his head, “Girl, you’ll see just how _helpless_ I am later.”

“That a promise?”

“You can take it to the bank.”

Sansa rested her hand on the gearshift, “I don’t have the patience,” she nodded toward his crotch.

Sandor groaned, “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” with one hand on the wheel he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans, and pushed them down just enough for her to see his boxer-clad cock, “Happy?” he asked, with one eyebrow cocked.

She shook her head slowly. His cock twitched of its own accord. With a huff he pulled his boxers out of the way to reveal his perfectly proportionate cock. Her eyebrows raised in response.

“Now you happy?” he asked.

She nodded, then slowly led his hand back to gearshift before he could tuck himself back in.

“Wha—” he started to ask when her hand gripped his cock. His question turned into a hiss of pleasure as she pumped him in earnest. No teasing, no tickling, just a good old-fashioned tug job.

“Fuck, Sansa,” he growled, but didn’t stop her.

He was already getting close to finishing when she lowered her head, taking half his cock into her mouth while her hand continued stroking the rest of his length.

“Fuck,” he groaned again. He widened his eyes, trying to keep focus on the road, as his hands clenched around the wheel and gearshift. Thank God it was more or less a straight shot down the main road, because he was definitely on auto pilot.

“I’m gonna cum, Sansa,” he warned her when he could hold out no longer. Her response was a satisfied moan and he shot his load into her mouth. Not a drop missed its target, and she swallowed it all like a trooper. She backed away then took a sip from the water bottle he kept in his cupholder at all times and smiled proudly. She tucked him back in, zipped him up, and even buckled his belt while he sat still, trying to slow his breathing.

Now that the lust was abating, he tried to figure out what just happened, or more accurately, _why._

She answered his unspoken question, “You looked tense… nervous. Don’t be. I don’t go out much, and I want to have a good time. Got it?”

Sandor nodded his head until an idea struck him, “Are _you_ nervous? Or tense?”

Sansa laughed, “Not anymore.”

He clicked his tongue, “Alright, just let me know if that changes, I’d love to return the favor.”

…

Sandor surprised himself by enjoying their date. The view truly was incredible. The rooftop restaurant was dimly lit with strung Edison bulbs, so he felt less exposed than he normally did in public places.

They shared a bottle of wine. They laughed, they teased. Sansa told him about some of her “regulars” at the diner, including an old man who insisted she recite the menu specials even though he ordered the same thing every Tuesday – liver and onions.

“Eww,” Sandor scrunched his nose.

“I know. Every Tuesday, like a fool, I pray that for once he’ll order one of the specials. And every Tuesday I have to carry his plate of organs to him, trying not to look at _or_ smell it.”

Sandor chuckled, “So you’ve worked there since you moved to White Harbor?”

“Just about. I briefly worked as a cashier but realized I could make better money as a waitress.”

“So… not to pry or anything, but you have your brother Robb, your cousin Jon… maybe other family. Why don’t they help you out with the kids, or send money at least?”

“Jon is in the military. He is really generous with gifts for the kids, but he doesn’t make the type of money that he can just send us a check every month, ya know? And most of Robb’s paycheck goes toward his own living expenses, or the remaining medical bills of Bran’s.”

“Why doesn’t he move here? Where real estate is cheaper.”

“Because there are few corporate jobs here. He wouldn’t make as much. He does send us money, don’t get me wrong, but… look, it’s not like we’re _broke_. I have money… it’s just expensive feeding and clothing three growing kids, plus taxes, utilities, car insurance, cell phones. Hell, half of what I make at the diner goes toward our health insurance alone. And there’s always something that needs to be fixed or replaced. The dishwasher, the fridge, the washer, the dryer, the water heater, A/C unit, the TV… Our furnace is shot… we didn’t have heat for the last two months of last winter. But I mean, I don’t want pity or anything. We live alright. We have fun. There are always a few beers in the fridge and a pack of smokes in my pocket. It’s not like we go without.”

“I get it. Shit adds up. You’d think if you don’t have a mortgage or rent that it’d be smooth sailing, but all the other stuff easily exceeds that.”

She nodded, “What about you? Single income household… if you’ve only been there ten years you must still have a mortgage. Plus the time you were… away.”

“Well I’m not rich, but I make good money. Don’t have four people to feed and clothe. One cell phone, one TV. No car payment. Cheap insurance, liability only since I got the truck for free. I’m no Lannister, but I don’t have to worry about money, either.”

“So, I hope I’m not prying, but why all that house for one guy? Did you used to live with someone?”

“Nah. I liked the neighborhood, the house was cheap, but had been well maintained.”

Her eyes went wide, “I’m sorry – did you say you _liked_ the neighborhood?”

Sandor chuckled, “Yeah, I know how it sounds. I don’t feel like I fit in in the ritzy part of town, and I sure as hell don’t want to step foot in the worst parts of town – trust me, that’s where I grew up, and it sucked.”

Her brow furrowed, “You grew up here?”

“Aye, since age eight.”

“Wow… you grew up in the shittiest part of White Harbor and still ended up with a decent job instead of locked up? I mean… uh, locked up for drugs, or stealing, or something…” she blushed.

“Look girl, let’s address the elephant in the room. I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he lowered his voice, “but I was still responsible for it. I wasn’t a bad guy, but I wasn’t a nice guy either. Didn’t take much to set me off.”

“What about now?”

“Now? I dunno because I’ve been avoiding situations that would set me off. But I think I learned my lesson… there were plenty of guys in pen that tried to start fights – wanted to prove they were hard by starting a fight with one of the biggest guys there. But I didn’t take the bait. Didn’t want time added to my sentence, and now I don’t want to earn myself _another_ sentence. It’s a pretty strong incentive to keep myself out of trouble.”

Sansa shook her head, “It’s so hard to picture you fighting.”

“Really? The first time you saw me you said I look like a hitman.”

“Well yeah,” she laughed, “That was before I realized how nice you are. You’re like this gentle giant. This big teddy bear!”

“Girl, no one has ever called me gentle, or a teddy bear. I think it’s time to cut you off,” he moved to reach for her wine glass, but she snatched it first.

“Don’t get in between a woman and her wine,” her teeth ran over her bottom lip playfully and Sandor couldn’t help but think about how, just over an hour ago, those lips had been wrapped around his shaft.

Their main course was brought out and they ate in a mostly comfortable silence. Occasionally, while chewing, Sansa would glance out to sea with a relaxed look on her face. It was so unlike how he normally saw her, and Sandor was tempted to snap a picture with his phone.

Sandor hadn’t yet told her that he booked a room for the night – first because he feared that she would find it too forward, and then because he wanted it to be a nice surprise. He doubted she’d mind, after her generous act during the ride over.

“You ever think you’ll leave White Harbor?” she asked out of nowhere.

“Doubt it. Always figured I’d die here.”

She rolled her eyes, “I guess I mean do you ever _want_ to leave?”

He shrugged, “I guess if I was the wife-and-kids type, I’d want my kids to grow up in a nicer place, but for just me, this place suits me fine.”

She was looking at him queerly and he realized his blunder, “Oh, shit… I didn’t mean you’re a bad parent for raising the kids here, I just—”

She smiled sadly, “I know you didn’t. It bothered me a lot, at first. We grew up in Winter Town, in a really nice house, an estate really… when we first moved here, I thought it would be temporary. When I saw how bad the town was, I was shocked. I was so naïve, so sheltered, growing up… A month after we moved here a guy outside the grocery store said he needed money because his car broke down and he needed a bus ticket. I actually gave him five bucks. When I saw the same guy there with the same story a month later, I thought, ‘poor guy, he still hasn’t even collected enough for a bus ticket’.”

Sandor chuckled, “Was that the guy that always wore that brown trenchcoat?”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t seen him since I’ve been out. Wonder what happened to him.”

“He died,” Sansa said bluntly, “Overdose… maybe two years ago. Apparently, he was revered within the indigent community. They held a vigil for him outside the grocery store two nights after he died. They made a little shrine, laid cigarettes and beer cans there. Someone used paint to write _RIP Bus Ticket Bob_ on a piece of cardboard.”

Sandor snorted, “I guess I should feel bad for him, but actually it sounds like he was lucky to have so many friends.”

Sansa smiled, “I kind of felt the same way. You know he was only forty?”

“Seriously? I thought he was sixty, at least.”

“Yeah… hard life. I tried to find out about him. I kind of hoped to find out he had some traumatic thing happen; some event that turned his life sideways.”

“And?”

Sansa shrugged, “Nothing that I ever heard about. Just born and raised in White Harbor.”

“That’ll do it.”

“Yeah… after I came to terms with the fact that our living here wouldn’t be temporary, I worried about Rick and Arya. Not so much Bran. All I could think was that it would be a miracle if neither of them ended up in jail or addicted to drugs.”

“Well, I’d say you’ve done alright so far. You may wish they were more responsible, but they’re both good kids. That’s what’s important.”

“Yeah,” Sansa smiled, “Part of the reason I let them drink is because I don’t want them having to go out to do that… I don’t want them hanging out at some random kid’s house where there might be more than beer and weed, ya know?”

“Makes sense. I suppose I never thought of what my parenting style would be, but I think I subscribe to the idea that if you’re overly strict, they’ll just find ways to do shit behind your back.”

Sansa’s eyebrows rose, “And those two _definitely_ would.”

“So how long did it take you?”

“Hmm?”

“To lose your naivety… to realize life wasn’t a dream.”

“That started before we moved here, sadly.”

“Your parents’ accident?”

“Yes. Then people who seemed like they wanted to help, but they always wanted something.”

“Mmm.”

Sansa dropped her head back and chuckled, “You know, the whole first year we lived here, Arya would get in fights at school and I’d always yell at her, assuming it was her fault, picturing the other kids as some innocent victims. She’d defend herself but I thought she was lying. Then one day I had to go to the principal’s office because she’d been in a fight. The other kid was there with his mom. I can’t even describe to you how ignorant this woman was. The other kid was twice Arya’s size, had a reputation as the school bully, had been suspended twice before, Arya told me, and the woman was screaming in my face about keeping _my_ kid in line.”

“So why do you look so amused?”

“Because it was the first time that I realized Arya wasn’t in the wrong… after trying to talk rationally to the woman for ten minutes I gave up. I looked at Arya and said, “if that fat ass puts his hands on you ever again, you have my permission to bring a knife to school and stab him in the throat.””

Sandor laughed, “Oh God, what did the mom say?”

“Oh I didn’t give her a chance to talk, I told her if _she_ didn’t get _her_ kid in line that I would rip her hideous eyebrow ring out with my teeth. Then we dropped the mic and walked out.”

“So? Did he stop bullying Arya?”

“Yep. You wanna hear the best part?”

“What?”

“So my cell phone rang before we even got out of the school parking lot. It was the principal droning on about how he cannot allow threats of violence, blah blah blah, and I was like “whatever, anything else?” and he sighed really loudly and said, “Yes, **_thank you_** Ms. Stark.””

“No shit?” Sandor laughed. “Yeah, I feel bad for the teachers and staff at the schools here.”

“I know, right? I’m surprised they don’t wear bullet proof vests to school.”

Sandor chuckled, “So, fast forward a couple years and you threaten a man twice your size with a tire iron?”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”

Sandor shrugged, “No, but I’ll let you make it up to me.”

Sansa’s eyes twinkled, “Anything specific in mind?”

With an amused snort Sandor rose. The check had already been paid, and he was ready to move on to the next part of their evening. He reached for Sansa’s hand, “Come on.”

They walked into the dark bar on the ground floor of the hotel. It was more like a jazz club, and while Sandor didn’t care for jazz, he was relieved not to hear bass-heavy club music. They were seated at a sweetheart booth and both slid in to sit shoulder-to-shoulder. After their drinks were delivered Sandor wrapped his arm around Sansa and leaned his head back, content to relax for a while.

After some minutes had passed Sansa tilted her head slightly against his chest, “You know, Betty is going to grill me about our date.”

“Yeah? And what are you going to tell her?”

“Well, for starters, that you _are_ big everywhere.”

Sandor laughed, “What else?”

“That you clean up really well…”

“Anything else?”

“That you are a gentleman, or at least can be, when you’re so inclined.”

“Mm… sounds like I’m doing pretty well.”

“Yup… oh and I forgot about how you’re a really good kisser.”

“Yeah, but you knew that already.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that night too well.”

“No? Then how do you know I’m a good kisser?”

“Damn, you’re right. Guess I won’t be able to tell Betty…”

“We can’t have that. Betty lives for gossip.”

“What do you propose?” Sansa turned her head up to face him fully.

He knew enough to know this was an invitation. With his fingers gently placed on her chin, he angled her face up and met her lips with his own. He was surprised by his own gentleness. He was buzzed from the wine and the cocktail, but compared to the kiss at the party, he was much more aware of the feeling of her lips, the smell of her hair, and the softness of her cheek.

They kissed like this for some minutes, softly exploring each other’s lips, hands tentatively skimming necks and arms and waists. When Sansa’s hand snaked up Sandor’s shirt to run along his side he jerked. Sansa smiled against his lips, “You’re ticklish.”

“No,” he lied.

She stroked her finger back down the sensitive flesh and he jerked again despite trying to suppress it.

“Yes,” he reluctantly admitted.

She smiled and backed away, leaning her head against his shoulder and seemingly enjoying the music and atmosphere. Sandor thought that was a good idea; despite keeping their kiss sweet and tender, a few more minutes of _any_ contact with Sansa and he’d be fucking her right there in the booth.

They sat together for a few minutes before Sandor excused himself to go to the restroom. In actuality he ran to the front desk and checked in for his reservation, receiving a keycard. He had made the reservation in advance, but figured he’d only check in if things seemed to be going well with Sansa.

Things were going _more_ than well. He was enjoying himself. They were talking, laughing, and now kissing. They were getting to know one another. Well, mainly he was getting to know her, but she seemed to understand talking about his past wasn’t something Sandor enjoyed.

He slid into the booth and startled Sansa. “Come here often?” he joked.

She recovered quickly, “My first time. My date must have fallen in the toilet, but I guess you’ll do instead.”

Sandor shook his head in mock admonishment, then lifted his arm for Sansa to slide back against him. They each ordered another drink, and perhaps it was making Sandor loose lipped, “Hey Sansa?”

“Hmm?”

“It seems like… well it seems like you’re hard on yourself. About the kids. Like you think you’re failing them…”

He had more to say but she interrupted him, “I know what you’re going to say – I was only eighteen when I had to become a parent. I’m doing as well as can be expected…”

“No. I was going to say I think your family… your household… I mean… I think you guys are kind of awesome.” _Fuck, you sound like a moron!_

She turned her head, “Would it be the yelling or the fist fights that make you think that?”

Sandor snorted, “All of it. I can tell you and the kids all love each other so much. You butt heads, but behind it I can see the love. Like, you’d kill for each other, die for each other. Like the night of the party when that bitch said what she said… I actually thought you were going to kill for your family.”

Sansa giggled, “And you didn’t try to stop me?”

Sandor shook his head, “I _should_ have. I think I was as afraid of you as everyone else in that moment! I’ll try to keep my wits about me next time.”

“Good,” Sansa nodded against his shoulder.

“Anyway, I just… I’m kind of jealous of you guys.”

Sansa looked up at him slowly, confusion written on her face.

He shrugged, “I mean, you all care about each other. Not just you four, but then add in Jon and Robb. You’re like this… _wolf pack!_ You snarl at each other, you play fight, but at the end of the day you survive together. I wish I had a family like—”

Her lips were back on his, this time with urgency. Her hand caressed his scarred cheek and he let her. Her body pressed against his and he _definitely_ let her. His hands spread out across her narrow back, pulling her as tightly to him as two people could be.

It got hot and heavy very quickly, and Sandor was vaguely aware that people could see them. It was a dark club, and the curved booth meant no one to their left or right could see them, but anyone directly between their booth and the stage could.

Sansa must have been having the same realization for she pulled away, looked around, and bit her lip.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sandor muttered, surprised by how husky his voice sounded. Sansa nodded and took his hand after he dropped a fifty on the table.

He was glad his jeans were thick and his boxers tight as they walked out of the bar. He was also glad he kept the hotel room a surprise, because seeing Sansa’s eyes brighten when he took her to the elevator instead of the parking garage was priceless. He tried to keep a straight face and was assisted when she grabbed him roughly and pulled him into her for a kiss the moment the elevator doors closed. His want was pressed against her, and she moaned at feeling it. Her hands threaded into his hair as she kissed him possessively.

The ride was much too short, but when Sandor remembered a hotel suite was waiting for them, he hurried to step off and walk down the long hall. He was pulling Sansa by the hand when she giggled, “Slow down, I can’t run in these shoes!”

Sandor grumbled something about women as he threw her over his shoulder effortlessly, relishing the way the back of her thighs felt on his palm.

When a middle-aged man stepped out of his room, his eyes went wide at the sight of a giant man carrying a woman over his shoulder like a caveman. Sandor probably looked like a caveman, too, with his large features and long dark hair.

“Just delivering a stripper-gram,” Sandor mumbled as he walked by the frightened onlooker. Behind him he heard Sansa laughing.

He put her down just long enough to retrieve his wallet and fish out the keycard. The task was more difficult than it should have been as Sansa inserted herself between him and the door to continue their heated kiss from the elevator ride.

When he finally scanned the card they practically tumbled into the room. Now with the absolute privacy none of their previous encounters afforded, they went at each other with a feralness they’d each been holding back for months. Sandor couldn’t decide where to put his hands – her face, her neck, her back, her butt, her breasts – so they roamed all over her with a speed that was passionate but not romantic. She similarly seemed to be marveling over his form. Her hands couldn’t wrap fully around his biceps, but they tried, before similarly cupping his shoulders. They went around his neck and later around his waist.

Sandor felt like he could explode just from kissing her. He thanked the Gods he didn’t believe in that Sansa has sucked him off in the car. After years without touching a woman, and perhaps just from the magnificence of touching _this_ woman, he would have spilled himself the first time her lips suckled his tongue.

She frantically began unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that were deft even as they trembled with lust. Once he was parted from his shirt, he unzipped her dress and pulled it past her hips until it dropped to the floor. She stood almost naked in his arms – nothing but a tiny lace thong and a strapless bra. He hastily removed the latter and tossed it in the general vicinity of the bed. He wanted to cry when her breasts spilled free. They were so perfect, so _Sansa_ … milky white and round, with nipples the color of pink roses. They were in perfect proportion to her slender but curvy figure.

“You’re staring.”

Sandor’s eyes snapped up to hers, “They’re worth staring at.”

She laughed and pulled him by his belt loops until their hips met. They kissed some more, and Sandor wondered if it was his lips on her neck or his chest hair rubbing her nipples that made her shudder and moan. He walked her backward toward the king bed as she stroked up the ridges of his abdomen. He moaned inadvertently when her fingers skimmed just inside the waistband of his boxers before unbuckling his belt.

Everything was going fast and slow at the same time. Their hands were moving quickly. They were kissing each other as if they’d never get another chance. And yet, Sandor was acutely aware of every single gesture, noise, and look. Like the look in Sansa’s eyes when she pulled his boxers and jeans down and grabbed his cock. Like the sound she made when, after fumbling with his boots, he was completely undressed, and ripped her thong off with a single rough tug. Like the way her mouth fell open when he pressed himself against her drenched opening and slowly pushed inside. The way all the air seemed to vacate her lungs when he bottomed out inside her.

They way her lips were now a different kind of hungry as he rocked against her, trying to set a pace he could maintain long enough for her to cum at least twice.

The way her hand felt clasped around his left forearm when he pushed up onto his hands so he could better see the way she looked while he fucked her.

The way her legs felt wrapped around his hips.

The way she only broke eye contact when the pleasure consumed her and made her eyes flutter shut.

The way her breasts bounced and jiggled with each thrust.

The way her moaning turned into panting when he increased his pace and pressed his thumb against her clit.

The way she whimpered when he fucked her even harder, leaning back on his ankles and bringing her hips with him.

The way her head tossed back and forth on the pillow as her belly quivered with staccato breaths.

The way her channel tightened like a vice when she came, crying his name out as he continued to fuck her at a blistering pace through her ecstasy.

The way her eyes looked at him with affection and adoration when he slowed to allow her to recover, as he lazily stroked her thighs.

The way her eyes looked at him with surprise when, instead of seeking his own completion, he resumed pounding into her while pinching and teasing her nub with one hand, and her nipple with the other.

The way she groaned out an expletive when she came for the second time.

The way she pulled him down into her arms, guiding him to bury his face in her neck when he followed her over the edge, as he pushed his cock so far into her he was afraid he’d hurt her, but couldn’t stop.

The way he was pretty certain he loved her.

The way he was pretty certain he would marry her someday, if she was ever fool enough to agree to it.

The way pulling himself from her body felt so _wrong_ that he wished he could plunge his limp cock back into her.

The way, instead of rolling to opposite sides of the bed, or hurrying to find discarded clothing items, they lay entwined, sweaty, breathless, and thoroughly satisfied.


	10. "Which one of us gets the caboose?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the SanSan date.

**Chapter 10**

Sandor was pulled from a deep sleep by a shouted expletive and movement on the bed.

He snapped his head up, “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep!” Sansa scolded herself aloud as she pulled on her thong and began searching the blankets for something.

“So what?”

“So it is _not_ a good idea to leave the kids home alone all night! Where is my bra?!”

His hand fished around until he felt something near the end of the bed, “Here. And they weren’t alone.”

Sansa’s head popped up, “What?”

“Tormund was going to spend the night.”

Sansa shook her head as her brows knitted, “Why?”

“Because I asked him to. So you could relax and get a good night sleep without worrying about them.”

Sansa crossed her hands over her heart, and he was certain that if he were looking at her face, he’d see her eyes filling with tears of happiness. But all he was looking at were her breasts. They were as perky as he remembered from last night.

“You’re staring again,” she said with a giggle.

He shrugged, “They’re still worthy of being stared at. Even more so now that it’s daylight.”

She shook her head but was clearly pleased by his praise. He threw the blankets off of him and stood from the bed, stopping with just two feet between them.

She raised an eyebrow, “Talk about worthy about being stared at…”

Sandor snorted, “Which part?”

She eyed him from head to toe, “The whole damned package.”

When her eyes lingered on his cock for long seconds, then landed on his eyes, he felt his chest clench. Women didn’t check him out this way. Women checked him out in a “I wonder if his cock is as big as the rest of him” way. They checked him out in a “Thank God his body is worth looking at, cause his face sure ain’t” way. They checked him out in a “Well this will do for the night” way.

But Sansa was checking him out in a “I can’t believe this is all mine” kind of way. At least that’s what he thought he read in her eyes. He felt he could read her pretty well. For a southside White Harbor chick, she was surprisingly guileless. Now he knew it was due to her sheltered childhood. The old Sandor would have found it annoying. The old Sandor would have thought she was a fool for trusting him, not just around herself but her younger siblings. The old Sandor would have found a reason to push them all away, so he’d never have to receive their judgment (more like, so they’d never realize how much of a disappointment he was).

At a later date he’d psychoanalyze what had changed. Had five years away from the fairer sex made him realize a good woman was not something one simply threw away? Or he simply reached the age at which a man’s instincts told him to settle down, find a woman, treat her right, and hope she’d be the one?

_The one._

When did he start thinking of Sansa in those terms?

_Is she the one?_

_Am I her ‘the one’?_

_Do I want to be?_

The panic he expected to accompany such thoughts never came. Sansa closed the gap between them and took his left hand in her right, “Sandor… I can’t believe you did all this for us… for me.” Her eyes were no longer fixed on him; instead they stared down at the bed, as if it represented all the nice things that he’d done for her.

Before he could tell her not to worry about it, she pressed her lips to his. It didn’t last long, but it succeeded in pulling Sandor’s semi-erect member up to full attention.

“I have a strict rule about morning breath kisses,” she whispered as she looked down at their joined hands, or maybe at his hard cock, “so I hope you know how much this all means to me… how much you mean to me.”

Sandor smiled and leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead. He was at a loss for words, and his throat was tight when he tried to respond. All he managed to say was “Same.”

…

Sansa couldn’t believe all Sandor had orchestrated. Booking a hotel room. Sneaking off to check in when she thought he was in the restroom. The night before he even had Arya bring a plastic bag to his house – it contained underwear, sports bra, shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops so Sansa wouldn’t have to leave the hotel at 10 in the morning in her dress and heels from the date. Sandor added to it a toothbrush for each of them, travel sized toothpaste, his deodorant (which he let Sansa borrow), and a t-shirt for him to wear instead of his dress shirt.

He'd left the bag in his truck during their date, but went down to retrieve it after they had their little chat that morning, after which Sandor took her bent over the small dining table in the room.

God, could Sandor fuck! Even better, he made her climax his personal mission. With past lovers, Sansa had to pretty much announce that she was trying to cum. In her experience, men fucked until they came. Some would be decent enough to inquire afterwards about whether she’d finished, but most didn’t bother pretending to care.

Perhaps some might look at Sansa’s track record of “relationships” and think she was slutty. Perhaps they’d be right, but with her work schedule and taking care of the kids, particularly when they were younger and less independent, Sansa had no time for a courtship. She’d hook up with the occasional guy she met at the club, but it always left her dissatisfied, both sexually and emotionally. It wasn’t like she was actively looking for Mr. Right, but she hoped one day one of those hookups might prove to be a decent guy she could actually have something of a relationship with.

The only one that seemed to fit the bill was Harry, who she met when she was twenty-three. He was charming and handsome, was neither clingy nor aloof. _He’ll do_ , she remembered thinking. They didn’t court in a traditional sense, but he made a point of coming to the diner or club a couple times a week. When she had a free moment they’d talk. He never even made a move until she’d known him for over a month. With something of a relationship, she thought sex with him would be more fulfilling. Boy was she wrong. He became completely self-absorbed in the bedroom, like he could have been fucking a muddy hole in the ground for all he knew. After sex, he’d go back to being somewhat charming. It confused Sansa to have someone be kind and decent outside the bedroom, but completely selfish in the bedroom. She tried to teach him, in subtle ways, how to please her. He obliged her, but did so unenthusiastically, which meant she couldn’t cum even if the mechanics were right, because she felt rushed… like she was inconveniencing him every second his finger or tongue was on her clit.

Sandor was completely different. She didn’t have to ask, nor did she have to instruct. He was in tune with her body, she could tell. She had four orgasms in twelve hours, and as they drove back home, she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Twice Sandor caught her grinning like a fool and rolled his eyes at her, but she could tell her happiness pleased him.

They pulled into Betty’s driveway and Sansa hopped out. Sandor said he’d walk her home, since he was eager to see how Tormund had done with his nanny duties.

Sansa entered the house with her eyes squeezed halfway shut. Though she was grateful for Tormund for simply being the adult for the night, she didn’t expect him to do much more than keep the kids from killing each other or burning the house down. So when she walked in and was greeted by the mingling aromas of bacon and Lemon Pledge, she didn’t know what to think.

Rick was winding the vacuum cord up, apparently having just finished using it. Arya came downstairs with a basket of dirty laundry. Bran was setting the dining room table.

“What the…” Sansa whispered in awe.

Tormund popped his head through the kitchen doorway, “Hey lovebirds, how was your date?!” he grinned from ear to ear, which made him look every bit the mad ginger, but standing there in Sansa’s apron, holding a bowl of what was probably pancake batter, Sansa felt nothing but appreciation and fondness for the man.

As she walked through the living room, she pressed a kiss to Rick’s head, then Bran’s. Arya darted out of her reach, “No way; who knows where your mouth has been?” she wrinkled her nose and glanced toward Sandor.

Sansa rolled her eyes and settled for ruffling Arya’s hair, “Why are you taking the laundry downstairs? Our dryer’s broken, remember? We need to take it to the laundromat.”

Arya shrugged, “Tormund hung a wash line outside. I told him it’s going to take way too long for everything to dry, but he told me to shut up if I want chocolate chip pancakes. It’s whatever.”

Sansa fought a grin, but after Arya descended the steps, she threw her arms around Tormund’s neck, “Move in with me!”

He laughed, “Giving up on the big man already?”

“No, I want you _both_ to move in! You’re both like… like… a woman’s dream come true!”

Tormund arched a brow, “Oohh… tell me more about this _dream_ … which one of us gets the caboose?”

Sansa covered her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. After everything Tormund had done, she would suffer a threesome joke.

The six of them enjoyed a delicious breakfast of pancakes and bacon with juice and coffee. Even Bran seemed to enjoy himself, though Sansa wondered if he looked at Tormund the way a shrink might observe a psychiatric patient.

The best thing about the day was that the weekend was far from over. It was noon when they finished their meal, and Sansa had the rest of today and all of tomorrow – Sunday – to look forward to.

Tormund eventually was ready to head out. Sansa thanked him profusely while the kids made their usual ‘we like you but won’t admit that we like you’ comments. Arya complained about him snoring like a bear while Rick laughed in agreement.

Sandor, too, said goodbye. He thanked Sansa for the nice evening even as she insisted that he was the one owed all the gratitude. He seemed to be working up the courage to ask her something, and his hesitation was adorable.

She decided to put him out of his misery, “So… I told the kids I’d make their favorite dinner tomorrow, since they went an entire night without inflicting bodily injury on one another… so I’m going to make chicken parmesan. If you like that, and you’re not busy, you’re welcome to join us.”

Sandor’s eyes lit up as she concluded her words. He nodded with unhidden excitement.

She couldn’t help but push her luck, “We’ll be home all day tomorrow, so you can come over whenever… hang out in the pool, play videogames with Rick, have a beer… if you want.”

Sandor nodded again, seemingly lost for words. She smiled as she led him to the porch where she kissed him well. When she pulled back his mouth followed, and she fought the urge to giggle at his odd sweetness and innocence that appeared in unexpected moments.

“Last night was perfect,” Sansa spoke, “ _Everything_ about last night. Thank you again.”

With another peck on his cheek she turned to go back inside. She didn’t know much about Sandor, but she knew he didn’t think much of himself, at least when it came to how women saw him. He clearly needed time to process the fact that she truly had enjoyed every second spent with him. And she had. Literally, there wasn’t an unpleasant or awkward moment the entire evening. She couldn’t remember ever feeling that way about a guy. Sandor was an open book… though perhaps that wasn’t the right term… he didn’t reveal all aspects of himself, but when he spoke, he meant what he said. He didn’t waste his breath with empty expressions of courtesy or flattery. If he said she was beautiful, he meant it. If he said he wanted her to have a good night, he meant it. He didn’t rent the hotel room in hopes of getting lucky. Perhaps that was _part_ of it, but he did it so she could relax and enjoy the evening – the rare evening away from the loud house.

When she closed the door behind her she leaned against it and sighed airily. She recognized but couldn’t stop herself from being the lovestruck girl in a cliché movie scene.

_Lovestruck._

_I’m I falling in love with Sandor?_

_The grumpy, scarred man who lives across the street…_

_The one who is only six months out of a five-year prison term for killing a man…_

She clapped her hands over her mouth and giggled at the realization that yes, she was falling for him, and no, she didn’t care about his past, his scars, his grumpiness…

It was the one thing – literally the _only_ thing – that was better about her life after her parents’ deaths. Her parents had been loving, kind, generous people, but they demanded a lot from their kids – Robb and Sansa in particular. Sansa recognized that, had her parents been alive, she’d currently be driving herself mad over what they’d think of Sandor. They would never accept her association with a man like him, of that she was sure.

Then again, she’d never have met him if her parents were alive.

It was a strange realization to have.

In her darker moments, which were less frequent than they used to be, Sansa felt like giving up on the world and everyone in it. It felt like the epitome of cruelty that her parents should die while less noble people lived. It felt like there was a great sinkhole growing beneath her, waiting for her to make just one more mistake before it would swallow her whole.

In her more reflective moments she could recognize parts of herself that had flourished after and directly in response to her parents’ passing. She was more assertive, less naïve. She knew how to take care of herself and her siblings. She had shed the misgivings of her youth – that she would go to college not only to help her secure a good career, but because it was just what people in her social class did. She would go there for culture and experience, but would, soon after graduation, meet a man who would sweep her off her feet. He would marry her, buy her a big house, and she’d give him lots of babies. Adorable, perfect little children who would never give their parents any grief.

She looked back on that version of herself and laughed. She laughed at how she stupidly thought a handsome smile was the greatest indicator of a guy’s true nature. Behind Sandor’s scowl was a hardworking man with a big heart. Behind the Harry Hardyng’s dimples there was a self-obsessed young man who fancied himself a playboy… who was so convinced of his own perfection that he did little to genuinely be worthy of any admiration he received.

Arya came up the basement steps with a basket of damp clothes ready to be hung out back. Sansa eagerly volunteered to help her, though the whole time she hung up clothes on the line, she could only think of Sandor and their perfect night together. Who would ever have thought behind his gruff demeanor was a man capable of orchestrating a perfect, romantic evening?

…

Sandor walked around his house aimlessly, still in a daze from the shock of having pulled off a perfect date – Sansa’s words.

He had no idea what to do with himself, but knew he needed a physical outlet for the excitement and joy he felt.

He decided to work out. He needed to do a better job of keeping up with his fitness routine. It was easy to do in prison, with few other ways to pass the time. Now that he was out, he was only working out about twice a week. Work at the garage was tiring, but he shouldn’t make excuses. He couldn’t help but notice the way Sansa purred with lust as she touched his arms and shoulders last night. That noise was incentive alone for him to maintain his form.

He headed downstairs and spent a half hour on the treadmill and a half hour on the weight bench. After that he decided he’d mow the lawns. He normally did that either first thing in the morning or in the early evening when the sun wasn’t as strong, but he needed to keep himself busy.

Once he was finished with his yard, he pushed the mower to Betty’s. He hadn’t noticed her come out until he heard, “So how did it go last night?”

“Oh, uh, hey Betty. It went really well, actually.”

“Yeah?” she perked up, “You get lucky?”

Sandor snorted, “Yes, but that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

“How many times?”

Sandor buried his face in his hands even though she couldn’t see his embarrassment. He knew all along she’d get details, why bother fighting it? “Three times… well, two and half?”

“A _half_? What’s the matter, Mr. Johnson didn’t show up for the third shift?”

Sandor threw his head back and laughed, “That wasn’t a problem. The first time was, eh… a one-way street.”

“Ah, a little taste of what she had coming, huh?”

“Actually,” Sandor groaned, “It was a taste of what _I_ had coming.”

“No shit!?”

Sandor nodded, then said “yes” when he remembered Betty couldn’t see him.

“So – how was it?”

Sandor knew he should shut up. He didn’t kiss and tell. He didn’t want to share any details about his night with Sansa, and wouldn’t when pressed by his friends, but Betty was just… well, he knew being old and blind she had little to entertain herself. So he found himself answering honestly, “The best I’ve ever had.”

Betty smiled warmly, “Well, Sandy, that should tell you something.”

“What?”

She sipped her tea, “Any two people can have good sex. But to have _great_ sex… there needs to be something more than just physical attraction. You understand?”

Sandor’s mouth went dry. It should be no surprise; he’d been having the same thoughts all day, but somehow hearing Betty – in all her quirky wisdom – give voice to his thoughts, made him realize their truth.

“Yeah. I think so. I just hope it’s mutual.”

Betty’s smile widened, “I have a feeling you’re about to find out…”

“What?”

Betty nodded toward Sansa’s house and Sandor turned his head to follow her eyes. Arya and Rick were walking over with purposeful strides. Well, Arya’s were purposeful.

“See ya, Betty,” Sandor mumbled as he headed back toward the garage between their two houses.

He grabbed three beers out of the fridge, knowing it was pointless to pretend he wasn’t going to share. Arya snatched hers almost angrily. Rick took his gleefully.

“So,” Arya started after drinking a few gulps, “You going to be our new _daddy_?”

Sandor laughed, “Do I look like I have a death wish?”

Arya rolled her eyes, “What the hell did you guys do anyway? I told you to throw her a bone, not to make her fall in love with you.”

“She said that?!” Sandor rose abruptly from where he was leaning against the truck.

“ _No…_ ” Arya curled her lip, “But she’s fluttering around like a happy little butterfly. She was smiling like a simpleton while washing the dishes, and she was _singing_ while hanging up laundry. It’s disgusting.”

Sandor found himself smiling, which only earned another eyeroll from Arya, “Yeah, that’s pretty much what she looks like.”

Sandor shook his head, “I thought you _wanted_ her in a good mood, now you’re over here bitching about it?”

“I’m not bitching!”

“No?”

“No!”

“Then what’s your point?”

She crossed her arms haughtily. A look of concern colored her face before she evicted it in lieu of an angry scowl, “Are you just fucking around?”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, we asked you to throw her a bone, and I thought that was all it would be. But clearly it’s more than that for Sansa… what about you?”

Sandor sighed. Twice today someone had forced him to contemplate what he felt for Sansa. Twice he concluded she was more than just some chick. His feelings for her seemed to pole vault over wanting to date and hookup to oddly domestic fantasies. Living with her. Loving her. Marrying her.

He took a deep breath, deciding once again to give the truth, but not the whole truth, “I dunno what it is, but it’s definitely more than fucking around, for me at least... But why the fuck are _you_ over here grilling me about it? Your sister is a grown woman. If she has concerns about whatever is between us, she can ask me herself.”

Arya held her hands out, “She’s too busy living in her little fantasy over there. Right now she would stroll right onto the train tracks and never hear the whistle. We need to look out for her.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Sandor felt his ire growing. For a girl that always spoke with brutal honesty, Arya was acting surprisingly wary, and speaking in metaphors.

“Just what I said!”

Sandor shrugged.

Arya huffed, turning to lean against the truck, “Sansa isn’t dumb, alright?”

“Agreed.”

“But… she also doesn’t know much about the whole “dating” thing… hasn’t had much time for it. I don’t want to see her get heartbroken because she’s making this into something it’s not.”

Sandor was taken aback. He wasn’t expecting Arya to be concerned about her sister’s emotions. Nor was he expecting to learn that Sansa was just as inexperienced as he was when it came to relationships. He figured a pretty girl like her had been on plenty of dates, even though she herself told him she hadn’t.

Sandor’s silence seemed to have gotten Rick’s attention. He’d been trying – unsuccessfully – to swat a fly that was buzzing around the garage. He finally looked up at Arya, “Just tell him what you told me before we came over here.”

“Shut up, Rick.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.”

“What did she tell you?”

Rick grinned, “That if you do anything to hurt Sansa, she’s going to chop your dick off with her Dornish sword and feed it to the angry pit bull two blocks down on the left.”

Arya was glaring daggers at Rick. He only shrugged, “What? I think it’s a pretty good warning.”

“It wasn’t meant to be a _warning_ , you shithead! It’s just a fact. You don’t tell people to expect your attack, you just attack. Now, thanks to you, if he hurts Sana, he’s going to know to walk around wearing a cup all day.”

Sandor laughed, “Look, with or without your warning, I don’t plan on hurting Sansa.”

“Ungh!” Arya groaned, “Of course you don’t _plan_ on it. I can tell you’re not a _total_ jerk. But you might do it anyway. You don’t seem like you know what you’re doing, and you can be a dick sometimes. No offense.”

Sandor snorted, “None taken. Look – what exactly are you over here pestering me about? You want me to stop seeing your sister because I _might_ fuck it up someday?”

“No.”

“The opposite then? You want me to propose to her? Promise to stick with her through thick and thin for the rest of my life so you can stop worrying?”

“No!”

“Then what?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?! I’m the kid, you’re the adult. Just, I dunno, take a class or something.”

“A class?”

“Yeah, _romance for dummies_ , or some shit.”

“I don’t think that exists.”

“Well do something! Figure it out. I don’t want you fucking this up!” Arya stomped across the street, leaving behind a confused Sandor and an oblivious Rickon.

“Your sister left,” Sandor mumbled after a few minutes to the kid who was now looking through Jack’s old tools with casual interest.

“Okay.”

“Umm… I gotta get back to mowing the lawn.”

“Okay.”

“Soo… not sure I should leave you alone in here with power tools and axes and whatnot.”

“Oh, right.” Rick nodded and walked to the driveway, turning when he was a few feet past Sandor, “Don’t worry about what Arya said. She’ll never admit it, but she’s really protective of Sansa. She hates that she works at the club because guys drool on her there, apparently,” Rick shrugged, probably thinking Arya meant literal drooling, “and she is always worried that Sansa is going to get hurt. I told her not to worry, Sansa is the toughest person I know. This guy tried to carjack her once. She bit his hand and dragged him along with his arm stuck in the window until she got to the police station.”

Rick walked back toward the house, completely unaware of how much he’d disclosed with such seemingly benign words.

Sandor pulled the phone out of his pocket.

**Me: You wanna go to the boxing club in a couple hours?**

**Arya: Why are you sucking up to me?**

**Me: I told you before I’d take you the first time you went. Plus, I need to get back in my old routine.**

**Arya: And?**

**Me: And you need to start learning how to fight for real, so if I ever hurt your sister you can kick the crap out of me instead of snipping off my cock.**

**Arya: How do u know I won’t do both?**

**Me: Shit. Good point. But a deal is still a deal. So you wanna go or not?**

**Arya: Whatever**

**Me: Is that code for yes?**

**Arya: Yeah grandpa. I’ll come over at 5. U can take me to McDonald’s after.**

**Me: Really??!! Can I?!**

**Arya: Go fuck urself**

**Me: Then who would fuck your sister?**

**…**

**Me: You there?**

**Arya: Sorry I was throwing up**

**Me: LOL. See you at 5**


	11. “I could get used to this.”

Sandor pulled into his driveway shortly after lunchtime on Sunday. He’d run to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine to bring to Sansa’s for dinner.

When he got out of his truck, he heard the familiar sound of Stark bickering across the street. He groaned, hoping this wouldn’t mean the dinner plans were off.

“I can’t believe you two thought this would be even remotely okay!” Sansa shouted. Sandor looked over to notice she, Rick, and Arya were standing in the front yard. A black dog was wandering around the yard in apparent oblivion.

“We couldn’t just leave him there!” Arya spat.

“He might belong to someone, Arya! You might have just kidnapped someone’s dog.”

“He doesn’t! We waited to see if anyone around claimed him, but no one did!”

“So?! He may have gotten out of his yard and wandered to the park.”

“Look at him Sansa!” Rick cried out, “You can tell he’s homeless!”

Sansa rubbed her forehead, “How can you tell if a dog is homeless?!”

“Because he’s all dirty and mangy!”

“All the more reason not to bring him into our house! He’s probably flea-infested!”

“Right, because he’s _homeless_!” Rick threw up his arms as if the matter was settled.

Sansa bent down and picked up the dog, “I’m taking him to the shelter. This isn’t up for debate!”

“It’s a Sunday, the shelter’s closed!” Arya shouted as she tried to wrench the dog from her sister’s arms.

Sansa groaned so loudly Sandor could hear it from across the street. After some deliberation, he jogged over to them. Sansa saw him and threw her head back, “Good, can you talk some sense into these two? I came home to find this dirty stray dog sleeping on our sofa!”

Sandor started to laugh but stifled it, seeing Sansa was in no mood.

“Your sister’s right,” he directed at Rick and Arya, “You shouldn’t have brought him home.”

“But he was out alone in the park! It was only a matter of time before he got hit by a car or some mean kids found him and did Gods know what.”

“Arya,” Sansa spoke between clenched teeth, “We cannot have a dog! You think I want another thing to take care of and clean up after?”

“We’ll take care of him, Sansa, please!” Rick begged.

“Yeah, right… you two couldn’t even keep a pair of goldfish alive.”

“That’s not our fault!” Arya crossed her arms, “It’s the shitty tap water here!”

“No, it was the _filthy_ tap water that you never cleaned!”

Sandor shook his head, “A dog is a lot of work. You have to feed him, take him out several times a day, brush him, clip his nails…”

“We’ll do all of that! Come on, it’ll teach us responsibility,” Arya insisted as Rick nodded along.

“You have a job now, Arya. And you’re both in school. Who’s going to take care of him during the day? He might not even be housebroken!”

“Then we’ll train him!” Rick offered, “Besides, he’ll make a good guard dog.”

Sansa rubbed her eyes, “Rick, I walked into the house and he didn’t even wake up. He ain’t guarding shit.”

Arya was not dismayed, “That’s because he’s old. Which means he’ll be a good dog. Quiet. Obedient. He knows ‘sit’ already.”

“Even if he’s the perfect dog and even if I believed for a _second_ you two would take care of him, it’s still an expense we don’t need.”

“He’s small, he won’t eat much!” Rick argued.

Sansa groaned, “What about vet bills? Right off the bat he probably needs to be de-wormed, have a flea and tick treatment, get his shots, and who knows what else!”

Arya calmed her voice, clearly ready to take a different approach, “We will take him to the nonprofit animal clinic tomorrow. They’ll de-worm him and give him his shots for only forty bucks, I already looked it up. Then we’ll get flea shampoo and give him a bath in the yard.”

Sansa closed her eyes, “This isn’t a debate.”

“Then why are you debating with us?” Arya tapped her foot.

“Good question,” Sansa began walking to her car, but the kids stepped in front of her as a combined force.

“Oh for Gods sakes! I’m the adult, I’m the one who owns the house, who pays the bills. If I say no dog, it means NO DOG!”

Sandor sighed, “Can I offer a suggestion?”

Sansa turned to him looking murderous, “If it’s to keep the dog on a trial basis to see how it works out, then no… I already know how that will end.”

“No, I was going to offer to keep him in the garage until you can get him checked out and cleaned up. Then I’ll keep him at my house. I have a doggy door that goes to my yard. The kids have to take him for a walk or exercise him twice a day, pay for dog food, and scoop the yard. If they keep up with that for a few weeks, you can reconsider letting them keep him at your house. If not, then I’ll keep him. I like dogs.”

Arya nodded, “Yes, you like dogs because you’re not some heartless dog killer that would take this poor boy to the pound where they’ll just euthanize him,” she stuck out her bottom lip for effect.

Sansa shook her head, “Sandor, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s fine. I always thought I’d get another dog someday. Plus that way I’ll get to make sure he’s alright… if he bites, I’d rather he bites me than one of the kids.”

“Really?” Sansa raised her brows, “Because I think a mangled finger would serve these two right!”

Sandor pulled the dog from her arms, “He seems alright to me,” he scratched the dog’s ears. He had dark brown, almost black fur, and appeared to be some type of terrier mix, and hadn’t made a peep throughout the entire argument. He let out a happy little snort as Sandor scratched his ears.

“What should we name him?” Rick asked eagerly.

“How about _money pit_?” Sansa suggested.

She was ignored. “I say Cujo,” Arya’s eyes brightened.

“Aye, ‘cause he looks really vicious,” Sandor rolled his eyes.

“How about Max?” Rick suggested.

“That’s boring,” Arya snorted.

Sansa let out a resigned huff, “Whatever. You two go with Sandor, help him get the dog set up in the garage, and do _whatever_ he asks of you. I need to go put the groceries away and start the sauce.”

“Sansa, can’t we keep him in the back yard since Sandor’s coming over later anyway?” Rick asked hopefully.

Sansa glared at Sandor, “You see? It’s already starting.” She turned back to the kids, “Fine, when Sandor is ready to come over and hang out, he can bring the dog… _if_ he wants to. But you two will keep an eye on him and pick up any poop.”

“Yes!” they shouted in unison.

Just then Bronn pulled up in his truck. Sandor had completely forgotten that he was due to drop by to borrow some of Sandor’s tools.

Bronn strutted across the street, and instantly the dog started barking at him, aggressively. Bronn backed up, “Easy killer…” he nodded at Sandor, “What’s up with the dog?”

“The kids brought it home from the park.”

Bronn reached out a hand to let the dog sniff him, but it only growled menacingly.

Sansa was suddenly giggling, “I might like this dog after all.” Shaking her head she walked back into the house.

Sandor, Bronn, and the kids walked over to the garage where Sandor set down the dog. He was still staring at Bronn warily, but had made no move to attack.

“This dog’s a good judge of character,” Sandor snorted.

“Ha, ha,” Bronn opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, handing one to Sandor.

“Alright,” Sandor spoke firmly, “Rick, go into the house – the cabinet above the microwave has dishes in it. Bring out two bowls for food and water. Also the hall closet has spare blankets on the top shelf. Bring out the gray one that’s all beat up – you’ll know it when you see it. Arya,” he handed her his keys, “go to the store and get a bag of dog kibble. Just a small bag for now, alright? And you might as well get a flea collar or flea shampoo right away, too.”

She held out her hand, “I need money.”

Sandor stared at her, “You have a job now.”

“Yeah?”

He huffed, “You’ve already spent all your money?”

“I only work three days a week, and _Queen Sansa_ has to collect her share. Can you believe she’s making me pay for my fillings? Like it’s _my_ fault I got cavities!”

Bronn snickered, “Actually, that is your fault. What’s the dentist charging?”

“Like a hundred per cavity.”

Bronn picked up and revved one of Sandor’s drills, “I’ll do it for forty a pop.”

Arya backed away, eyes wide as Sandor nearly doubled over in laughter, “I already told Sansa she should DIY it… told her to use plumber’s putty.”

Bronn nodded as if it were actually a good idea, “You know what my daddy used to do when I had a toothache?”

“I dunno,” Arya spat, “did they have dentists that long ago?”

Sandor laughed. Bronn swatted at her head, but she ducked away, “Anyway, he used to tie a piece of string around the tooth, then tie the other end to his muffler.”

Arya rolled her eyes, “Oh and I bet you had to walk ten miles in the snow and rain to school each day.”

“ _School?_ I was working since I was twelve, kid, helping Mom pay the rent when Dad up and left.”

“Well, no offense, but it sounds like you were better off without him.”

Bronn nodded solemnly, “Truer words have never been spoken.”

“Alright, enough reminiscing about the good old days. Here,” Sandor handed Arya a twenty.

She looked at the bill like he’d put a penny in her hand, “How am I supposed to buy food and flea treatment with this? It isn’t 1940 anymore.”

Sandor fished out another twenty, “Your sister was right about the dog, wasn’t she?”

Arya nodded, “Yeah, she usually is, just don’t tell her that.”

As Arya hopped into Sandor’s truck Rick finally returned. He got the blanket right, but apparently chose the two largest mixing bowls that Sandor owned.

“Come on Rick, it’s a dog, not a horse!”

The kid shrugged and disappeared back inside the house. A minute later he came back with two cereal bowls. Sandor pat him on the head, “Now you’re using your brain! Hey… why didn’t you put water in one of them?”

“You didn’t tell me to!”

Sandor groaned, “I thought it was pretty self-evident. All living creatures need to drink water to live… or is that news to you?”

Rick scrunched his face, “What about fish?”

Sandor rubbed his eyes, “They’re surrounded by water, they inhale it through their gills.”

“What about spiders?”

“Of course they—wait actually I’m not sure. Hey Bronn, do spiders drink water?”

…

While waiting for Arya to return with dog food, Sandor, Rick, and Bronn each sat and drank a beer. Rick played with the dog, Sandor and Bronn chatted about their respective jobs.

“So,” Bronn spoke conspiratorially after a time, “How was your date?”

Sandor chuckled, surprised it took Bronn this long to ask, “It went really well.”

“So, did you…” Bronn stuck the index finger of his right hand through a circle formed from the thumb and index finger of his left hand.

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Not going to kiss and tell.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to hear about the kissing. So… did you?”

Sandor groaned, “Not going to do _that_ and tell, either.”

“Whatever. The ginger said you didn’t get home until late the next morning. And that Sansa was in a particularly good mood. So I already know the answer.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Bronn shrugged, “Cause I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Cool!” Rick gasped. When Sandor looked over, the dog was walking in a lopsided circle.

Rick turned to look at the men with a toothy grin, “I gave him some beer, you know, since beer is made out of water. And now he looks like that guy that stands outside the convenience store on Vine Street.”

Bronn nodded, “Ah, Twirlin’ Tom. You know he used to be a teacher?”

“Really?! I wish my teachers did that.”

Sandor laughed, “No more beer for Tom Junior over there, alright?”

Rick nodded as he patted the cement floor near his feet, “Come here, Tom!”

The dog stumbled over, no doubt responding to Rick’s hand and not the name, but Rick didn’t care.

“That’s his name! Twirlin’ Tom Junior. Or Tom for short!”

“Whatever, kid, just don’t be giving him beer all the time so you can watch him twirl.”

“What about when my friends come over?”

Sandor groaned for the hundredth time today. Just then Arya pulled up and hopped out of the truck with a bag of kibble in one hand and a shopping bag in the other.

“Here’s your change,” she dropped some coins into Sandor’s palm.

Sandor looked at his hand, “Fifty-one cents?”

“Yeah, well I got him a tennis ball and a chew toy, too. Cool – he’s walking in circles!”

Sandor dropped the coins into the can of screws Bronn was going to borrow, “Here, buy yourself a stick of gum.”

…

Sandor could agree with the kids on one thing: Sansa’s chicken parm was the best he’d ever had. He was glad she had made so much, accustomed as she was to cooking for a bunch of savages, because he had two big helpings of chicken, pasta, and garlic bread along with a good-sized salad. He would have felt rude eating so much if it weren’t so obvious that Sansa loved feeding him.

He had spent the two hours before dinner in the pool with Rick and Arya, who took turns keeping an eye on Tom. Luckily, Tom was content to spend most of the time dozing in a shaded corner of the deck.

After dinner they played a game of _Sorry!_ The two losers would have to clean the kitchen, which meant Sandor was very happy when he and Sansa finished first and second.

While the kids straightened up, splashing each other with soapy water by the sound of it, he and Sansa relaxed on the couch and watched reruns of Sansa’s favorite sitcom. At some of the antics, Sandor chuckled, “You know, they should make a sitcom about your family.”

“Oh hush, we’re not that bad.”

“No, you’re not as dysfunctional, but you’re all funny as hell!”

She swatted his chest just as Arya and Rick came barreling into the living room, “We finished cleaning, can we crack into the brownies now?” Rick asked eagerly.

Sandor sat up, “Brownies?!”

The three Starks laughed at him. Arya raised her brows, “Geez, San, you don’t want a dog, but you got one anyway.”

Sandor waved off Arya’s teasing, “Do they have walnuts?”

“Yeah,” Arya stuck her tongue out, “I think Sansa only puts them in because she knows we don’t like them.”

“You crazy? The nuts are my favorite part!”

Rick grinned wickedly, “That’s what she said!”

Sansa laughed merrily, “Yes you may have some brownies now. Bring two in for Sandor. And a glass of milk.”

Sandor leaned back into the sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table, “I could get used to this.”

Instead of a witty retort, Sansa bit down a smile and snuggled against his arm, “Good.”

Despite willing time to slow down, it was soon nine o’clock. Sandor stretched, “Well, this old man needs to get his ass to bed soon.”

“ _Your_ bed?” Sansa teased. When she saw Sandor’s eyes widen, she giggled, “I’m just messing with you. I’m tired, too. And I’m working a double tomorrow.”

“Who’ll pick the kids up, then?”

She rose and walked him to the porch, “I’ll take my lunch break at three so I can zip over to the school, drop them off here, then get back to the diner. It’s not a big deal.”

“So when do you eat lunch?”

She rolled her eyes, “I work at a diner, I eat whenever I want. I usually use my break to run to the bank or pick up dry cleaning. On a good day I sit outside and smoke _two_ whole cigarettes!”

Sandor smiled, “I wish I didn’t work until five, I could get the kids for you.”

“Seriously – stop volunteering yourself!” Sansa scolded playfully, “You’re spoiling the kids.”

“Fine,” he raised his hands in surrender, “Just know that it’s not a big deal for me to move my schedule around, go in early and leave early, or vice versa, if I give the boss a heads up. It depends on my workload, but I could probably swing it… if you ever needed me to.”

Sansa was staring at him as if he were an alien.

He admonished himself internally, “I know, sorry, I’ll stop offering or volunteering or whatever.”

She shook her head and pulled him down for a kiss. It was over too quickly for Sandor’s liking, but when she pulled away, she spoke in a reverent whisper, “Are you for real, or is this one really long dream?”

He snorted, “If I’m the best you could dream up then you need to get your head examined.”

“Stop,” she shook her head again.

“Relax, I’m just joking.”

“No, you’re _not_. You think because of your scars, or the fact that you were in prison, or, I dunno, maybe something else, that you’re not worthy of me. I’m telling you, _again_ , that you’re wrong.”

Sandor hadn’t intended to have such a discussion, but once those words came out of her mouth, he couldn’t let them go uncontested. It was tempting to believe her, but a lifetime’s worth of evidence pointed to the contrary. Sandor Clegane was a nobody, born to and raised by a nobody. He never graduated high school, only completing his GED while he was in prison. If not for Jorah’s mercy (twice) he wouldn’t even have his job – the one thing he was proud of. He drank and fought all through his twenties, well past the age most men were done sowing their wild oats. He had no family. And, last but not least, half his face was a mangled mess of scars. Scars that didn’t even come with some cool story to tell. He hadn’t saved some kid from a burning building or gotten them while defending his country. He got them at age six, when his deranged cunt of a brother wondered what it would be like to hold his head in a burning pile of charcoal.

He must have gone too long without speaking, for when he focused his eyes on the present, Sansa was staring at him, looking disappointed.

This time he was the one to shake his head, “You _are_ wrong, Sansa. You’re bloody perfect. And I’m nothing. You think because you live in White Harbor now that changes who you are? You may have had to get tough, but you’re still nice and _decent._ You might be a waitress now, but you have the same brain that earned you a full scholarship to university. You’ve been raising your siblings since you were _seventeen_. Yeah, they get on your nerves sometimes, and you recognize that life sucks sometimes, but I haven’t _once_ heard you complain about all you had to sacrifice. I don’t detect a shred of resentment toward the kids you got strapped with, or the brother who got to live the life you were supposed to have. You are _literally fucking perfect_. And I’m as imperfect as they come. You think because I don’t beat women, or because I offer to pick your kids up from school that I’m a bloody saint?”

He was sure his words would get through to her. He was sure she’d recognize that he meant it all as a compliment. But as she so often did, she surprised him when she spoke again, her voice now laced with anger, “So how the am I supposed to feel about us, then? Are you just with me because you have some warped self-image, and you think I’m the best you can do? You’ve built me up as some perfect woman; what happens when you realize I’m not? Are you going to bolt? Or what happens when you learn to deal with your issues, when you realize how much you have to offer? Are you going to run away screaming from the crazy neighbor with the three kids and the shitty car and the shitty house who works two, sometimes three jobs, to pay the bills? Am I just gonna be the chick you use to build up your confidence, then you’re going to ditch me and find someone who has it all together?”

“Sansa… you’re not even making any sense…”

“No, _you’re_ not making any sense!” she shouted, seemingly startling herself. She held her hands up, “Look, sorry… I shouldn’t have even brought this up. We went on _one_ date and then had a nice time hanging out tonight and I’m talking like it’s something more than that. I don’t date much, like, at all… so I’m just… I dunno. Sorry. Goodnight.”

She gave him no chance to reply before she was through the door. Sandor was thoroughly confused and out of his depth. Did she really think that whatever was growing between them didn’t mean anything to him? Did she really think he only hung out with her because of lack of alternatives? Did she not realize his salary alone meant half the women in this town would date him? Not that he wanted some skank who’d be with him for his money, but it was still an option. Pull out a fat wad of cash to pay your tab in a southside White Harbor bar and one of two things is going to happen: 1) you’ll get jumped in the parking lot by a group of guys, or 2) some chick will jump your bones for the promise of a few free drinks.

Sandor thought back to his last relationship, if it could be called that. Her name was Crystal. They never went to dinner together, or to the movies. She never invited him over for a home-cooked meal. They drank together at the Kraken and went back to either her place or his for a quick tumble. If they spent the whole night together it was only because one or both of them was too shitfaced to even get dressed and call a cab. She wasn’t a bad person, but her fuse was even shorter than Sandor’s. She’d been arrested three times in the year that they were “together” – once for a DUI, twice for disorderly conduct outside of bars. She was as dumb as a post and thus would never amount to anything more than housekeeper at a nursing home. Even that job she lost, for missing too many of her shifts.

But at the time Sandor didn’t care that she was irresponsible or broke or none too bright. He didn’t even care that, even in bed, she never quite looked him in the face. He was too dedicated to working and drinking that he didn’t want a “normal” girlfriend. He didn’t want to have to put on a clean shirt and take someone out for a night on the town. He was happy shooting pool at the bar with the guys, and occasionally Crystal and whatever bar rats were clinging to Beric and Bronn at that particular point in time.

In his head, this all made Sansa’s point moot, but then he realized how it would sound if he told Sansa about Crystal. It would only cement her belief that Sandor was settling for her because he didn’t think he could do better.

**_Am_ ** _I settling for her? Is she fucked up and I just can’t see it because I’m even more fucked up, and I’ve only ever been around women who are even **more** more fucked up?_

This didn’t seem possible, but maybe it was. Sansa admitted that she rarely or never dated… was it because no guy was crazy enough to put up with her family drama? Or did she herself have some major flaw that Sandor was simply blind to? And what about how Arya and Rick asked him to ‘throw her a bone’? Could Sansa have something so wrong with her that men would decide she wasn’t worth the hassle no matter how hot she was?

Sandor thought back to his earliest appraisals of Sansa…

When she threatened him with a tire iron, he thought she was straight up crazy and paranoid.

When she commented that she wouldn’t fuck him for favors, he thought she was delusional.

And what about things he hadn’t witnessed himself, but heard about from others? Firing a shotgun within city limits, for instance. That actually wasn’t a big deal by White Harbor standards, but still. Or spraying R’Hollor followers down with a garden hose? Or threatening to let Arya stab a kid in the throat? Or biting the hand of a carjacker? Okay, that was probably justified.

Many of these things should have set off alarms in Sandor’s head, but they didn’t. _Why?_ He just got out of prison; he should be staying far, far away from anyone who smelled like trouble.

Sandor walked in a daze into the garage and sat down on the floor to pet Tom. Tom – the lethargic, possibly disease-ridden dog he took in to help out his neighbor. His crazy neighbor, whose crazy kids brought the dog home from the park.

 _No_ , he shook his head rapidly. No, Sansa wasn’t crazy. She was smart, pretty, kind, hard-working, funny… she was a damned good cook, too. And she could hold her liquor. All the other shit didn’t matter – that wasn’t _her_ , it was this town. It was her brother and sister driving her crazy. It was the stress of losing her parents at a young age.

_Which Arya said was murder…_

_Fuck, why haven’t I thought about that until now?_

Sansa made it sound like they had a wholesome upbringing, but who kills a couple of wholesome parents, and not in some random robbery gone wrong, but by staging it to look like a car accident?

But maybe Arya was full of shit. None of the other kids ever mentioned it. The girl had a weird fascination with violence, perhaps she saw foul play where there was none.

Sandor wracked his mind to recall anything else about the Starks. Let’s see… there was Bran’s accident. _What was it? … Right, he fell out of a tree, spinal injury. Just before their parents died._

_What else? Oh, a family friend took them in, but Arya said he was too touchy feely with Sansa. Okay, that’s unusual, but doesn’t reflect on Sansa…_

_Wait, why did they move to White Harbor again? … Arya told me, but I forget. What the hell was it? Oh, right! Betty said their aunt died and left the kids her house._

Their aunt. The crazy lady with the yapping dogs. The lady who never left her house, that Sandor recalled. Sandor had assumed she was old, but if she was Sansa’s aunt, and Sansa was about twenty at the time, the aunt must have only been in her forties when she died. _That’s unusual._

All this thinking, and Sandor was no closer to an answer. Moreover, he didn’t know the question he was trying to answer. First, he was trying to find out if Sansa had some major flaw he was overlooking, now he was thinking about their whole family.

_Bran’s accident._

_Parents’ “accidental” deaths._

_Family friend allegedly molesting Sansa._

_Aunt’s untimely death._

_Sansa threatening school children._

_Sansa stealing a pool._

_Sansa shooting a gun at a party._

_Sansa threatening me with a tire iron._

_Arya asking me all kinds of questions about prison._

_Sansa making out with me._

_Sansa dragging some skank out of the party in a headlock._

_Sansa telling me she’s a hot mess._

_Sansa kissing me._

_Sansa fucking me._

_Arya threatening to cut off my dick and feed it to a pit bull._

_Sansa making me dinner._

_Sansa telling me she’s crazy._

Sandor stood up so fast the blood rushed to his head and he had to lean on the workbench.

_What in the literal fuck?!_


	12. “Can you keep a secret?”

Sandor spent all week with his mind circling around everything he knew of Sansa. At times he’d convinced himself she was a deranged lunatic who pushed her brother out of a tree, killed her parents and her aunt, and accused an innocent man of being a pervert. At other times he’d convinced himself _he_ was the crazy one for even thinking about any of this.

The only consistent thought he had during all those days was why Sansa would want to be with him. It was one thing to be appreciative of the favors Sandor did – fixing her car, helping with the dog, trying to talk sense into the kids. But Sansa wasn’t just a grateful neighbor, she seemed like she was in love with him… _Him!_ The ex-con. The person who’d taken another man’s life. Getting past the scars was one thing, but how could any intelligent, responsible woman want to be with him – not just for a tumble, but for a relationship?

If nothing else seemed odd about Sansa or her past, that _one_ thought was enough for him to question her sanity.

He was grateful it was a busy week at work. He didn’t run into Sansa. He only saw Rick or Arya when they came over to play with Tom or clean up the yard. He was tempted to ask Arya some questions about Sansa, but realized if Sansa was a nutjob, Arya probably was too – maybe even more so.

Apparently, Sansa was having a busy week herself, working doubles at the diner Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, working a normal shift on Thursday, and waitressing at the club both Thursday and Friday nights. Sandor only gleaned this from talking to Arya, who said Sansa was also helping her friend Myranda clean houses on Saturday since one of her workers had a broken wrist.

Sandor felt like an ass. If he and Sansa hadn’t had a disagreement – or whatever it was – on Sunday, he’d like to offer to take care of dinner for the kids on Thursday night. As things were, he was afraid to make any offers of help. So instead, like a creepy stalker, he watched through his front window when Sansa ran to her car on Thursday night in the black dress she wore to the Dragon Pit.

Shortly after Sansa left, Sandor noticed Gendry’s beat up car pull out front. Sandor laughed to himself, figuring he and Arya were going to take advantage of Sansa’s absence to spend the night making out, or whatever it was Gendry was willing to do with the girl who was not yet legal.

He was surprised when, a few minutes later, there was a knock on his door. Arya apparently wanted Gendry to meet Tom. Now free of fleas, Tom was living in the house.

Arya made herself right at home, flicking on Sandor’s TV and sitting in his favorite recliner – after retrieving a beer for herself and Gendry.

“Should you be drinking on a school night?” Sandor asked in what he hoped was a stern tone.

“No school tomorrow. Teacher training day or some shit.”

Gendry mumbled, “Probably training the teachers how to disarm an active shooter.”

“I _hope_ there’s an active shooter someday,” Arya reached into her high-top sneakers and pulled out a switchblade, “I’ll sneak up behind him and slit his throat!” she flipped the blade around with disturbing dexterity.

Sandor ignored how alarming that was, especially in light of the thoughts he’d been having all week, “Don’t they have metal detectors at your school?”

“Yeah, but I think they’re broken. I have _never_ heard them go off.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “My tax dollars at work.”

“So what are you doing tomorrow?” Arya asked.

“Um, working.”

“I meant after work.”

“Probably doing what I’m doing right now.”

Gendry smiled, “Wishing Arya would leave you alone and stop drinking your beer?”

Sandor laughed while Arya smacked Gendry with a pillow.

“You should go to the Pit,” Arya suggested after some time.

“Why’s that?”

“Because Sansa is working there. I’d tell you to go tonight but I know you’re, like, old, and won’t go out on a work night.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Sansa’s busy enough at the club, doesn’t need to be trying to make time to talk with me.”

Arya huffed, “Whatever.”

Sandor’s curiosity got the better of him, “Why, did Sansa say something?”

Arya shrugged.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I dunno… she looked pissed Sunday night after you left, so I asked her what’s wrong and she said she’s a “stupid, stupid fuckhead” and then went to bed.”

Gendry’s eyes darted between the two of them.

“Well, whatever,” Sandor grumbled into his beer.

Arya seemed content to let the subject drop, “Got anything to eat?”

Sandor rolled his head, “Didn’t you eat dinner?”

“No.”

“What about Bran and Rick?”

“Rick was making chicken nuggets when I came over.”

“Oh. Yeah, there’s pizza in the freezer. Help yourself.”

It took a minute for her words to sink in, but when they did Sandor popped off the couch so fast that Gendry and Arya literally jumped.

“You said Rick’s making chicken nuggets?”

“Yeah,” Arya shrugged.

“In the oven?”

She nodded, “The toaster oven.”

“Fuck!”

Sandor bolted across the street so fast anyone watching would’ve thought he was being chased by a pair of hellhounds. He could smell smoke before he even opened the front door. The odor sent a stab of fear into his gut but he swung open the door, then let out a sob of relief when he saw Bran in the kitchen, holding a fire extinguisher loosely at his side, with no panic or fear on his face. Rick was swinging the back door open and shut rapidly. The whole living room was smoky, and it was even thicker in the kitchen.

Sandor ran into the kitchen, seeing white foam coating the inside of the toaster oven and the counter all around it.

“Hi Sandor,” Bran said emotionlessly.

Rick stared at Sandor with wild, tear-rimmed eyes, “Please don’t tell Sansa. She’ll kill me!”

“She should kill you!” Sandor bellowed, “Arya’s been at my house not even an hour and you almost burned yours down!”

“I know! I’m sorry!”

“Well what the fuck, Rickon!?”

“I put the nuggets in and didn’t realize it was on broil instead of bake. I went upstairs and played Xbox and forgot about them.”

“Then set a fucking timer!”

The tears fell from his eyes, “I did, but I put my headphones on and didn’t hear it!”

Arya and Gendry chose that moment to enter, clearly not having deemed Rick’s cooking as much of a danger as Sandor had.

“What the fuck, Rick?!” Arya echoed Sandor’s admonishment.

Rick’s face screwed up and without a word he ran out the back door.

“Shit,” Arya ran through the living room and kitchen to go after him, but by the time she reached the backyard he was already out of sight, apparently.

Sandor stomped toward her, “Next time your brother’s cooking, stay with him! How fucking hard is that?!”

“He’s twelve, not five!”

“Aye, but you know how he is, Arya! I’ve known him less than a year and even I know he has the attention span of a gnat!”

Arya pointed a finger angrily at Bran, “Well Bran’s the fucking genius with no social life, why can’t he babysit once in a while? Why is it always on me?!”

Sandor had no response to that, and Bran didn’t seem to either.

“Fuck it, that’s not my problem, alright? Let’s go look for your brother before he gets himself hurt.”

With only a sigh to voice her continued frustration Arya turned around to go back through the living room, with an uncomfortable looking Gendry in tow. Sandor turned to Bran, “Can you stay down here and call Arya if your brother comes back?”

Bran nodded, “Yes, Sandor. Thank you.”

They drove around the neighborhood for an hour, stopping at the playground, skateboard park, middle school, and any other familiar places Rick may have run to. Arya called his two best friends, but neither had seen nor heard from him.

“What if something happened to him?” Arya asked, voice small and frightened, when another half hour had passed.

“He’s fine. It’s not that late yet… is there anywhere else he might go?”

Arya shook her head but kept her eyes glued to the windshield. It was either a trick of the light, or her eyes were glistening. Sandor noticed Gendry take her hand and was surprised when she let him.

“He’s a tough kid, Arya, he’ll be fine,” Gendry offered soothingly.

They drove around another hour, resorting to shouting his name out the window like it was a dog, not a kid, that they had lost.

Sandor pulled into the gas station to get a pack of cigarettes and ask the cashier if she’d seen a kid with curly brown hair. She shook her head unhelpfully.

Sandor didn’t get back in the car, instead leaning into the window. Gendry and Arya stared back at him, matching pairs of wide eyes.

With a sigh he said the words he didn’t want to say, “I think we should call Sansa.”

Arya’s eyes went even wider, “Can’t we look for him some more?”

Sandor looked at his phone. It was going on eleven o’clock. It wasn’t _that_ late, but Rick wasn’t the type of kid he wanted running around by himself in this town.

In truth, he was afraid to call Sansa. Not just because he felt bad about bothering her at work, but because she no doubt would ask him what happened, and he’d have to tell her that he yelled at Rick, Rick cried, and then ran out the back door.

Sandor felt like an ass. Yeah, Rick had acted irresponsibly, but Sandor was pretty certain the kid couldn’t help it. He seemed to be short a few screws, but he was still a good kid. Regardless, it wasn’t Sandor’s place to yell at him.

But now he was also afraid _not_ to call Sansa. If they waited until after the club closed at two, would she be mad that they hadn’t called her earlier? Gods forbid something happened to Rick, Sansa would never forgive him, and he’d never forgive himself.

But what could Sansa do about it, anyway? What would she do other than drive around the neighborhood and phone his friends? They’d already done that.

Sandor opened the door and sat down behind the wheel but didn’t start the engine. He rubbed his brow, still deliberating whether to call her, when Arya sniffled, “I shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

Sandor turned to face her, “It isn’t your fault. I yelled at him before you even came in. He was already in tears when you yelled at him.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the one who left him alone in the first place.”

Sandor sighed, “He wasn’t alone. Bran was there. How old is he – fifteen?”

Arya nodded, “Yeah, but that’s like leaving a robot to take care of a baby.”

“Maybe it’s not that bad. When I came in Bran was in the kitchen and had already put out the fire. Maybe he wasn’t watching over your brother like a hawk, but when it mattered, he stepped up.”

Sandor looked back down at his phone. 11:05 PM.

“We need to call Sansa. You wanna do it or do you want me to?”

“I’ll do it,” Arya nodded, “She usually doesn’t hear her phone, but she checks it every half hour or so. She’ll call back.”

Sandor watched as Arya tapped on her phone, then held it to her ear. Just then Sandor’s phone rang. It was Betty.

He grabbed Arya’s phone and hung up as he answered his own, “Hi, Betty?”

_“Hey Sandy, you better get home. I heard your truck leave a while ago, but now someone’s making noise in your backyard.”_

“I’ll be right there.”

_“Should I call the cops?”_

“No!”

Sandor sped out of the parking lot and raced back to his house. Bypassing the front door he went straight to the backyard through the fence. In the moonlight he could see Rick sitting in a patio chair with Tom at his feet. His eyes went wide when he saw Sandor, but Sandor only put up his hands, “You’re not in trouble, but if you run again, you will be.”

Rick nodded shakily as Arya ran over to him. First, she pulled him into a fierce hug. Then she wound back and punched him in his upper arm.

“Ow! I thought I wasn’t in trouble.”

“Not with Sandor, maybe, but with me you are! You scared the shit out of me! You can’t run away like that without telling someone where you’re going. Where did you go anyway?”

Rick shrugged, “I only went behind the Foster’s back yard.”

Arya smacked her head, “So we drove around the whole bloody town and you were here the whole time!?”

“You were looking for me?”

“Yes! Where did you _think_ we all went?”

Rick shrugged, “So you’re not mad about the nuggets?”

Arya sighed, “Well, yeah, kinda… but I’m more _glad_ that you’re not missing.”

“So you’re not going to tell Sansa?”

Arya shook her head, “She’s going to smell it when she gets home, Rick… but if you promise to _never_ leave without telling us where you’re going, and without taking your phone, then I’ll tell her it was Gendry’s fault.”

“Hey!” Gendry squealed.

“What? Sansa likes _you_. And she can’t kill you; you’re not her kid.”

While Gendry and Arya argued Sandor walked to Rick and nodded at Tom, “Did you call him out through the doggy door?”

“Yeah. Can you believe he already knows his name so well?”

Sandor chuckled, “I guess you’re doing a good job training him… Hey,” he turned to Arya and Gendry, “Can you give me a minute with Rick?”

Arya smiled knowingly, “Yeah, I’m going to go make some frozen pizza for all of us.”

Once they were inside the house Sandor took the seat next to Rick. For a time he just sat there, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the late summer sky. The Citadel was still heralding the imminent arrival of Fall, but it didn’t feel or look like it to Sandor.

He knew Rick needed someone to talk to but was lost as to where to start. Apparently, though, he wouldn’t need to. “I know I’m a screw up, you don’t need to tell me.”

“Wasn’t going to… was just gonna ask if you want to talk.”

“About what?”

Sandor shrugged, “Anything.”

“I wish I was smart…” he said after some time, “Like Bran and Sansa and Robb.”

Sandor snorted, “I notice Arya isn’t on your list.”

“She’s a different kind of smart. She’s street smart. Like Jon.

“Ah… and you’re not?”

Rick shrugged, “Not as much as Arya.”

“Street smarts come from age and experience. Not like book smarts which you either have or you don’t.”

“Great…”

“I mean, some people are born with them, but it doesn’t mean you can’t make yourself smarter by studying.”

“Are _you_ book smart?” Rick asked innocently.

“Hmm… never thought about it.” Sandor thought back to his time in school. He could remember understanding things pretty well, but never studied, mainly because his home life was so shitty, and didn’t focus enough during class, because he was too worried about the other kids looking at his scars.

With a sigh he tried to answer as honestly as possible, “I think I’m smart enough. But I didn’t do well in school.”

“Why not?”

Sandor shifted in his chair, “Can you keep a secret?”

Rick nodded vigorously.

Sandor pointed at his face, “Had these since I was little. Try going through elementary school, middle school, and high school looking like this… some kids teased me, mocked me. All the kids looked at me like I was a freak, or like they were afraid of me.”

“Did you have a big sister that could beat them up for you?”

Sandor snorted, “You mean like Arya or Sansa?”

“Yeah. Arya beat up a kid last year for calling me a retard.”

“Good. And no, I didn’t have a big sister. I had a big brother, and he didn’t do shit for me. If kids were teasing me and he was there to see it, he’d have either joined in or sat back to be entertained.”

“What a dick!”

“Yeeeuppp…”

“So what did you do?”

Sandor shrugged, “Nothing. Until I got to be your age and, overnight, I was almost six feet tall. Then by fifteen I was over six feet tall. Kids still laughed behind my back. Still stared at me like I was a mutant. But they didn’t say much to my face anymore. Not after I beat the crap out of three guys at once.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah. Let that be a lesson to you. Strength in numbers is true, to an extent, but three kids that can’t throw a punch to save their own mother, against one kid who’s been raised on violence… well, you get the point.”

Rick nodded, “I got in a fight once.”

“Yeah? You win?”

“I _was_ winning, but a teacher broke it up.”

“Why’d you get in the fight?”

“Cause the kid Arya beat up for me teased me for needing my sister to come to my rescue. So I kicked his ass to prove him wrong.”

“Good for you, kid.”

“So then what happened?”

“When?”

“You’re really tall, you’re fifteen, you’ve proven you’re tough… did things get better?”

“Fuck no. Shit never gets better. I still get fucking leered at kid, even by people who’ve been seeing my face for over twenty years.”

“So what do you do?”

“Nothing. Leer back, I guess. Or tell them to fuck off. Or just leave. When you’re an adult, you can’t beat up everyone who looks at you funny. You end up going to jail unless you have a good reason.”

“You had a good reason and you still went to jail.”

“Yeah… my point exactly.”

Rick shrugged, “So you think people are always going to call me a retard?”

“Probably not. That sounds more like something kids would say.”

Rick nodded but Sandor could tell something was on his mind. He scratched Tom’s neck, earning a content grunt from the dog.

“Sandor, do _you_ think I’m a retard?” There was such earnestness in his voice and in his eyes. He wasn’t fishing for placation, he genuinely wanted Sandor’s opinion on the matter.

“No, Rick, I don’t think that. I think you’re actually smarter and wiser than you realize. I think you just don’t focus sometimes. You’re easily distracted. I think people who are like that might seem stupid, but they’re not.”

He nodded, “That’s what the doctor said.”

“Huh?”

“Sansa took me to a doctor a few years ago. Said I have Attention… something. I forget things. Anyway, he told me all these things to do, but I kept forgetting to do them.”

“Like what?”

“Using the timer, but then I forget about the timer, and if my phone volume is low, or I leave my phone in another room, I don’t hear it.”

“What else?”

Rick shrugged, “Exercise more. And there were other things. Mediation and relaxation, but I got so bored.”

Sandor smiled, “ _Meditation_ , I think you mean.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Sansa tried to help me. For a few weeks, every morning we sat together and she told me to focus on my breathing, not to talk, not to think, but I couldn’t just _sit_ there. It was _torture._ Eventually she got frustrated and gave up. She also tried putting me in Track. I liked it, but it was too hard because all the meets were on weekends and at the time Sansa worked every Saturday. She couldn’t always get someone to switch shifts with her.”

“Well, maybe you should try it again. Arya’s got her license now, Sansa doesn’t work every Saturday, and I can always take you if they’re both busy.”

“Really?!” Rick gave Sandor the biggest, toothiest grin ever.

“Yeah, why not?”

“Awesome! I’d be just like the other kids!”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I have a dad!”

Sandor was stunned into silence. Unfamiliar emotions screamed for his attention. Fear, pride, inadequacy, happiness… He cleared his throat and willed them all away, “Look, kid. Don’t get too excited. First, we need to talk to your sister about it. Second, are they even doing Track now?”

Rick smiled, “If not Track then what about Hockey? Or Soccer? Or Baseball?”

“Slow down! We talk to Sansa first. And, between you and I, I don’t know if she’ll be happy about the idea of me helping out with taking you to meets and practice and stuff. She gets kind of pissed when I volunteer too much.”

Rick shrugged, “That’s ‘cause she thinks you’re gonna bail, and then me and Arya will be sad.”

“She said that?”

“Well, not exactly, but I knew what she meant. At least I think it’s what she meant. I guess I should have asked Arya, she speaks Sansa better than I do. I guess since they’re both girls.”

“Oh.”

“Pizza’s done!” Arya’s voice shouted from the kitchen window. Rick bounded inside with only food on the brain, Tom tucked under one arm like a football.

As they all gathered in the kitchen to devour the pizza, Arya’s phone rang.

“Hey, San.”

 _“What the fuck happened?! Where are you?!”_ Sansa was talking so loudly everyone could hear her. Sandor mused that she should be a singer or voice-over artist. Her voice carried even when she wasn’t yelling.

Arya’s brows crinkled, “What do you mean? Did Bran call you?”

_“No! But **someone** should have called me! Bran said you and Gendry are out with Sandor looking for Rick who ran away after almost burning the house down!”_

“Wait – are you home?”

_“Yes!”_

“San, calm down, we’re at Sandor’s.”

_“What? Why? Did you find Rick?!”_

“Yeah, he was here at Sandor’s in the yard... Didn’t you notice Sandor’s truck in the driveway?”

_“No, I was a little distracted when I got home… then I was **a lot** distracted… Is Rick okay?”_

“Yeah, he’s fine. He didn’t even leave the block so don’t yell at him. Why did you leave work early?”

_“Ugh… some dickhead-- Wait, can Sandor hear me?”_

“Nope,” Arya snickered silently as she tapped the speakerphone button. Sandor rolled his eyes.

_“I was serving some rich douche bags from the south in one of the private rooms. They got kind of rowdy and handsy, but they were spending like crazy, so Dave told me to head home for the night and he’d get someone else to cover their room.”_

“Wow. Dave – your knight in shining armor…”

_“Whatever… my feet are killing me anyway. Wait – why does it sound like you’re on speakerphone?”_

“I put you on speaker while I wipe my ass.”

_“You’re stinking up Sandor’s bathroom? Arya, we live right across the street!”_

“Yeah, but he buys quilted toilet paper.”

Gendry and Rick were in silent stitches listening to Arya mess with her sister, but all Sandor could think about was the rich southern douche bags that had been harassing Sansa. It was very tempting to call Beric and Bronn, drive over to the club, and catch the fuckers when they left.

Sansa sighed loudly, _“Arya, just get your asses home. Sandor has to get up early, unlike you.”_

“Whatever, he can kick us out whenever he wants.”

_“Yeah, but he’s too nice, he won’t do that.”_

“That big fucker ain’t nice!”

Another sigh, _“Whatever. Just get home. I’m going to bed and I want to give Rick a hug first.”_

“K. Bye.” She ended the call.

“You’re evil,” Sandor said.

“Never denied it,” Arya chirped proudly.

The kids scarfed down their pizza and finally left Sandor alone, but sleep didn’t come quickly enough. He stared at his alarm clock – 12:41 AM. He had only about five hours until he’d get up, shower, and dress for work, but his brain was nowhere near tired enough to sleep. He thought about Sansa getting hassled at the club, and more specifically, why she didn’t want him to know about it. Did she think he’d drive over there and raise hell?

_That’s what you wanted to do._

Or did she just not want him knowing so he wouldn’t worry about her?

_That’s what you’re doing right now._

He also thought about Rick. He could feel for the kid, and Sandor rarely empathized with everyone. He was always quick to assume his suffering was worse than others’. Yeah, fat kids got teased, but they could diet and lose weight, he could never have a whole face again. Yeah, other kids had abusive fathers, but did they also have sadistic brothers? Yeah, other kids lost their moms, but there was always someone else around to love them – a father, aunt, grandparent…

But when his bones became heavy and he finally felt himself relaxing, there was only one thought in his mind, and it was a good thought…

_I don’t care if she’s a little crazy, or a lot crazy, I want to be with her._


	13. "If he’s blind, it’s only about himself"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shortish chapter so we can see Sansa's POV

Sansa strolled the grocery store aisles feeling depleted and uninspired. Rick was droning on as he walked beside her, but she paid him no mind. He usually rambled incessantly about video games or funny things that happened at school whenever he got Sansa all to himself. Normally, she listened, but today she was exhausted. She’d worked long diner shifts all week, back-to-back nights at the Pit, and most of the day Saturday cleaning houses with Myranda. It was now Sunday morning, her one day off before four straight days at the diner, another Friday night at the Pit, and another Saturday cleaning houses.

The good news – she would be able to buy a dryer without dipping into her car fund. The bad news – she was running on fumes.

Mechanically, she walked the aisles of the warehouse store, loading the cart with the Stark household staples: milk, bread, eggs, butter, cheese, bananas, apples, instant noodles, boxed mac-n-cheese, pasta, frozen pizza, cereal, ground beef, chicken breast, hot dogs, tuna, and canned ravioli.

Done with the groceries, she made her way to the paper goods and added paper towels and the value brand of toilet paper, scowling to herself as she looked at the prices of the quilted stuff. It was nearly double the price and would last half as long. So quadruple the price, essentially. Lucky fucking Sandor. Only one ass to wipe in his house.

She sighed as she thought of him. They hadn’t spoken in a week – since she had to get all stuck in her head and try to overanalyze their relationship instead of just enjoying his company.

Her moodiness at thinking of him reminded her to get tampons. Which reminded her they needed soap, which reminded her Arya needed deodorant. Thinking Rick was just about at that age she let him pick out some deodorant for himself. Only he chose some Gods-awful scent that reminded her of the blond jerk she’d been waiting on Thursday night.

“I thought I had it bad. Poor Sandor.”

Sansa’s head snapped up, “What?”

“I said I thought I had it bad getting called dummy and retard, but Sandor got teased all the time because of his scars.”

“What are you talking about?”

Rick sighed, “Weren’t you listening? When Sandor was a little kid, the other kids were afraid of him and made fun of him because of his scars.”

Sansa couldn’t believe her ears. Of course she had wondered about the origin of Sandor’s scars, but she assumed it happened later in life – maybe a car accident when he was a teen, or a cooking accident when he was a young adult. How could a little kid get burned so badly? When Rick and Bran and Arya were small, they were constantly supervised – by Sansa’s parents, Robb, or Sansa herself.

“Did he say how it happened?”

Rick shrugged, “I dunno, but don’t say anything. I think I was supposed to keep it a secret.”

Sansa felt like the worst person in the world. She gave Sandor shit about his self-esteem issues, but he’d spent literally his entire life being teased and treated like a freak. How could he _not_ have self-esteem issues? Sansa had self-esteem issues, and she’d spent the first eighteen years of her life being told how smart and pretty and perfect she was.

“So can I?”

“Can you what?”

Rick rolled his eyes, “You say I don’t listen…”

“Sorry, Rick. I’m just over-tired.”

“It’s okay. I asked if I can join Track at school.”

“You want to?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess we can look into it, but I need to see the practice and meets schedule.”

“Don’t worry about it. When you can’t take me, Arya can. When Arya can’t Sandor said he will.”

“You asked him?”

“No, he offered.”

“Of course he did,” as quick as that, Sansa was back to resenting him. Did he not realize he couldn’t just do all this nice stuff for the kids? Did he not see that if he ever stopped – because he moved, didn’t have the time, or just didn’t _want to_ anymore – it would break their hearts? Arya wouldn’t show it, of course, but Sansa could tell she had already shoe-horned Sandor into the Jon-shaped void that had been in her heart since he left to join the military when he was eighteen. And Rick… well, Rick seemed to look up to Sandor as some type of father or uncle figure. Sansa knew it was important for him to have positive male role models, but they barely knew Sandor. She couldn’t let Rick get attached to him. Sandor was a grown man in his thirties. With his skills he could get a job anywhere. Would he really want to stay in White Harbor for the rest of his life?

Or – and Sansa hated to think this – but what if he had another incident and ended up in jail?

Even if none of that happened, was all Sandor’s generosity contingent on his dating Sansa? Was he doing it all because he cared about and wanted to help her? And would he stop caring when things got tough? Sandor liked peace and quiet. Her life would never be peaceful; her house would never be quiet.

“So can I?” Rick begged.

Sansa huffed, “We’ll see.”

“But Sansa!” Rick whined.

“I said _we’ll see_. Now come on…” With renewed energy from her annoyance she rushed over to the kitchen department. They needed a new toaster oven. But when she turned into the aisle, her cart collided with someone else’s.

“Damn… sorry,” she mumbled.

“Watch where you’re going, lady!” a man’s voice scolded.

Sansa’s jaw dropped but when she looked up, she found Beric grinning at her.

“Asshole,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Hey, I’ve only got one eye and I’m still a better driver than you.”

Sansa shook her head even as she smiled, “What are you doing here?”

“In the market for a new toaster.”

Sansa snorted, “Really – did you put chicken nuggets in yours and leave it on _broil,_ unattended for an hour?”

Beric laughed, “No… old Bessy finally kicked the bucket.” He feigned wiping a tear from his eye.

“Aww,” Sansa pat his arm, “How old was she?”

“Twenty-five years young!”

Sansa stuck her lip out, “But that’s like a hundred in toaster years.”

“I know, but she was like a member of the family.”

Sansa couldn’t maintain her mock frown any longer; she burst out in a laugh, and Beric joined her.

He looked at her cart, “Is there an apocalypse coming that I don’t know about?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “It’s called Rick and Arya… they do to pantries what tornados do to trailer parks.”

Beric laughed, “Wow… so this will last you how long?”

“A week. It’s gonna have to… If they go through it all before then, they can live on Tums and the gummy vitamins that I bought them two years ago.”

“Hah! I can see why the big guy’s crazy about you.”

“What?”

Beric blushed, “Um… was it a secret?”

“Um… no. I mean, maybe? I dunno, I haven’t talked to him all week, figured I scared him off.”

“Let me guess – you said you like him, and he ran away like you were on fire.”

“Uh, no.”

“Then what happened?”

Sansa sighed, looking at the toasters as she spoke, “He said something self-deprecating and I told him I don’t like that… that he’s a great guy. Then he went on about how perfect I am and how screwed up he is… and I kind of started worrying that he’s only with me because he doesn’t think he can get anyone better.”

Beric eyed her curiously, “Sooo, you think he’s a great guy, and he thinks you’re a great gal… and that’s a problem?”

Sansa sighed, “It’s a problem that he thinks I’m perfect. I think he has blinders on, and when they come off, I’m worried he’s not going to like what he sees.”

“You realize you can say that about any relationship, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Beric sighed, “Look – I’ll admit Sandor has a poor self-image, but if he’s blind, it’s only about himself. But beyond that, when two people first get together it’s all passion and lust and attraction. Then there comes the first fight. They either survive it, or they don’t. Same for the next fight, and all the ones that come after. If you like him, and he likes you, why not give it a try?”

“Because it’s not just _myself_ I have to worry about…” Sansa nodded toward Rick, who was shooting down spaceships on his phone.

“Ah, I see… Well, I get it. I mean I _don’t…_ but I can imagine. But again, that’s _any_ relationship.”

“I know. It’s not just that. I work all the time. I’m tired all the time. And there’s an endless supply of drama at the Stark residence. He doesn’t need all that.”

“Wow… this is different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m used to Sandor trying to find reasons not to date. No time, not interested, not his thing… now it’s clear as hell to me that he likes you – _a lot_ – and you’re the one making excuses, even though you say you like him too.”

“I’m not making excuses! It’s the truth. I just want to save us each from something that will end badly for one or both of us.”

Beric lifted his eyebrow, “Whatever, it’s your life. Just think on it and make up your mind, don’t string him along. He doesn’t deserve that.”

Sansa could only nod.


	14. "I love everything your lips do"

For not the first time in his life, Sandor felt like a complete pushover when it came to his friends. After a long work week, he wanted to spend the weekend drinking at home by himself, with his feet up on the recliner. He’d throw in a morning workout, mow the lawns, maybe jerk off a couple times, but he was looking forward to a largely sedentary weekend.

Instead he was hosting all the guys to watch the UFC fight on Saturday night. Beric, Bronn, Tormund, Thoros, Pod, and Gendry. His living room and kitchen were already littered with empty pizza boxes, beer cans, and dirty plates before the undercard fights even started.

Sometime during one of the undercard bouts, his front door swung open. Arya waltzed in like she owned the place, “Why didn’t you invite me shithead?” she directed at Sandor.

“I didn’t _invite_ anyone.”

She went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a now-cold slice of pizza and a beer, and plopped on the floor in front of where Gendry sat on the couch.

“Where’s Rick?” Sandor asked, worried that he was home unsupervised.

“Grounded.”

“What for?”

“He and one of his dumb friends set off a firecracker in the school playground yesterday. He’s suspended all of next week so Sansa’s wigging out.”

“Suspended a week for a firecracker? That’s bullshit,” Bronn shook his head.

“It was a quarter stick,” Arya shrugged.

Sandor almost spit out his beer, “Where the fuck did they get that from?”

“The kid’s dad makes them in his garage.”

“Wow, sounds safe,” Thoros chuckled.

“Did anything get broken?” Sandor asked.

“No, but all the teachers’ car alarms went off... They’re such amateurs, they should have done it after school let out.”

“Yeah,” Sandor rolled his eyes, “that’s the lesson to be learned there…”

“Ooh, there’s a chick fight tonight!” Arya squealed.

“My money’s on the ugly one,” Bronn said casually.

Arya looked at him, aghast, “That’s ignorant.”

“No, it’s fact. The uglier the broad, the better she can fight.”

“Or maybe she’s ugly because she’s gotten her face pounded in too many times.”

“Alright kid, you so certain? Put ten bucks on it.”

“I only have five.”

“Fine, five bucks.”

Arya shook his hand eagerly, “You’re going to lose. Sansa’s the prettiest girl I know, and she can _throw down_.”

Sandor’s ears pricked up at the mention of Sansa.

Bronn shrugged, “Might be she can, but she ain’t brawling with professional fighters.”

“So where is lil miss brawler anyway? Too good to watch the fight with us?” Tormund asked with feigned insult.

“Nah, she went on a date.”

“What?!” Sandor sat forward so quickly everyone looked at him.

Arya’s face split into a shit-eating grin, “Gotcha!”

There was nothing he could do or say to recover his dignity, so he just sat back and drank his beer. Eventually the others resumed their various conversations, but Beric, the all-knowing mother fucker, kept sending him meaningful glances.

While everyone was engrossed in a particularly interesting matchup, Sandor snuck out to his porch to enjoy a cigarette and some silence. He sat in the dark, listening to the chorus of crickets, when a cough from across the street grabbed his attention. The porch light wasn’t on, but he knew it was Sansa. Summoning courage, he walked across the street.

“Hey,” he spoke.

“Hey.”

She was holding a joint in her hands. He must have been staring at it for she held it out to him.

He deliberated a moment before accepting it, inhaling deeply then coughing. He hadn’t smoked pot in nearly seven years. He’d always been partial to booze.

He handed it back and took a seat on the step below her, “Having a one-woman party?”

She snorted, “More like self-medicating. Why aren’t you over with your friends?”

He shrugged. “So what are you medicating for?”

She took a drag then blew out a cloud of smoke as she answered, “Nothing I want to talk about.”

He nodded.

They sat and smoked up for a good ten minutes. The silence felt heavy, but not awkward.

Sandor cleared his throat, “So, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I’ve been busy, you’ve been busy… but, uh, I just wanted to know where we stand.”

She let out a long sigh, “I don’t know.”

He nodded again and let more silence linger before speaking again, “You know, I did think about what you said. And I get where you’re coming from. I’ve given it some thought and… well… I want you to know that I see you Sansa. I see all this,” he gestured at the world around them, “I know there’s drama in your life. And I know you’re not perfect.”

She snorted, “What gave it away?”

He chuckled, “What I mean is, I know you’re not perfect. I also know I’m not perfect. But I don’t think I’m settling by being with you. And,” he exhaled, “I know you’re not settling with me. I’m a good man, Sansa. Not perfect. I’m broody, I can be short-tempered, though not like I used to be. But I work hard. I try to be kind. Generous, when I can be. My past is a black hole. I’ve seen shit, done shit, had shit done to me… stuff I still can’t even talk about. But it doesn’t define me. I know I can be good to you. And I sure as hell know you can be good to me. If you don’t have an answer now, that’s fine. But if you’re willing to try, then so am I. I’m not going to bolt when things are bad. I might slam doors and yell, I might say shit I later regret, but I’m not going to walk away because things aren’t perfect.”

He finally dared to look at her, but she was only staring at him blankly.

He lowered his head and nodded, “I guess that’s my answer, then.”

He stood up but she grabbed his hand, pulling herself up with him and pressing her lips to his in one surprisingly seamless motion. It was equal parts urgent and heartfelt. He felt like she was trying to take something from him.

She leaned against him until he was fully supporting both their weights. “Sandor,” she whispered when their lips briefly parted. It sounded like an apology, or perhaps a declaration. Either way, he accepted it.

She pulled him gently by the hand into her house, up the creaky stairs, and into her bedroom. He smiled as he looked around. The walls were white, and the bedding was dusty pink. Other than an errant sock or two on the floor, it was neat as a pin. It was all Sansa. The tidy little lady she was meant to be if she weren’t forced to cohabitate with a bunch of heathens.

“The Sanctuary…” he mumbled in awe.

She smiled over her shoulder as she took off her shirt. He did the same after only a moment’s pause. She toed off her shoes, he did as well. Her pants dropped to the floor just a few seconds before his did. It went that way until they were both naked, both completely exposed in the dim light of her bedside lamp. He was high as a kite, and so was she, but it didn’t create any sentiment that wasn’t really there. He stepped toward her and she welcomed him into her embrace. They kissed slowly, deeply. She laid down, knees bent and pressed together, but as soon as he crawled onto the bed her legs parted.

He kissed the place where her beautiful heart beat behind its cage before lowering himself all the way down. Their bodies touched from center up to chest as he leaned on his forearms, burying his fingers into her hair as he kissed her lips.

Their lips were glued when he sunk into her, slowly. She breathed a moan that felt like music to his ears. Her smooth calves stroked the outside of his legs as her hands stroked his back, occasionally venturing up to his hair which hung like a curtain on each side of his face. It shut out the rest of the world. There were no Bran and Rickon in neighboring rooms. There was no mob of rowdy friends across the street. It was just them. Just Sandor and Sansa – two names so similar and yet so different, his containing that harsh _D_ where hers had only the whisper of an _S_.

When he moved to bury his face into her neck she clung to his shoulders. He knew his slow pace wasn’t enough for her, but damned if he could speed up lest this end any sooner than it had to. He wanted to bring her to climax, but damned if he was unwilling to put enough space between their bodies to rub his thumb along her clit. He’d make it up to her, he promised himself. If he had his way, he’d spend the rest of his life bringing her pleasure and joy, enough to make up for the pain he knew was inevitable.

He nuzzled against the smooth skin of her neck, like a sleepy dog might.

The pressure settled in his lower abdomen, radiating to his balls. She was just too warm, too wet, too tight for him to hold out any longer. Perhaps she felt his back going rigid, for her hands moved up and down along his spine as she whispered in his ear, “It’s alright baby. It’s alright.”

He believed her, so he let go, moaning her name against her skin as he poured himself inside her, both hoping and fearing that she knew he was utterly in love with her.

...

Sansa woke surrounded by both light and dark. Light pink sheets and bright white walls surrounded her on all sides except one – where the large, dark man lay in a deep sleep.

She remembered falling asleep high in more ways than one. Beyond the obvious, she was high on Sandor Clegane. He made love to her last night. Not fucking, not banging… _loving._ She felt it through his very skin as he moved inside her reverently, as if he was hoping to spend the rest of his life in her warmth.

The happy feeling lingered for a few minutes until she remembered why she’d been smoking to begin with. Rick was suspended from school – what would have normally been a big deal if it weren’t that she had much bigger fish to fry.

Friday night the same assholes from last week came back to the club. Sansa was working the floor that night, so when she saw them enter and make their way back to a private room, she breathed a sigh of relief. She went about her night as always, hurrying to take orders and deliver drinks to the men and women at the tables scattered around the perimeter of the dancefloor. Hours flew by and it was almost time to announce last call when Sansa felt someone touch her butt. In a crowded club it was sometimes inadvertent, but there was nothing accidental about the hand that snaked up her short skirt and right between her legs. She spun around and saw the cocky blond douche bag. Without thinking she reeled back and punched him square in the nose, knocking him back into one of his friends. The bouncers saw it and were over within seconds. Sansa felt she was in the right, but the man and his friends claimed he never touched her. Dave was called out from the office. Sansa knew he believed her, but the blond prick was screaming at the top of his lungs as he pinched his bloody nose. He rattled off names of people he knew, including Tywin Lannister.

Sansa knew she was fucked when the man threatened to sue the club owner, to sue the bouncers, to sue Sansa herself. She knew how the world worked; even if the punch was well deserved, even if ultimately the club would not be found liable, they’d still have to spend a lot of money fighting it. Worse, Tywin Lannister was the type of man who could get the club shut down if he was so inclined.

When the man calmed down, he offered a _generous_ compromise – fire the bitch who hit him right then, right there, and he wouldn’t press charges.

Sansa didn’t bother arguing what she knew was a lost cause. Dave sternly reprimanded her, even though she could see the regret in his eyes. She was told to get her stuff and get out. So she did.

She drove to the park near her house and sat in her car for an hour, not wanting to raise the kids’ suspicion by arriving home early two weekends in a row.

All day Saturday she debated the option that had always been available to her, but that she never wanted to accept.

Her pay at the diner wasn’t enough to live on, by far. Working for Myranda’s cleaning service wasn’t steady, and only paid a buck over minimum wage.

She needed another job and fast. Robb had sent her $2000 to put towards Rick’s braces. It was a huge help, but still left her with monthly payments on the balance. She’d also need a new furnace before winter got here (no big deal, only six grand), and she hadn’t added anything to her car fund in over two months.

Also, and she was ashamed to even admit it, a part of her toyed with the notion of taking college courses online. A bachelor’s degree was out of the question, but if she could get some type of medical associates degree, she’d be able to get a steady job with decent pay, good benefits, and normal hours. But that would take time and money she didn’t have right now, especially if she got another job to make up for the lost income from the Pit. And that wasn’t even really a choice. She made decent tips at the diner but not enough to sustain a family of four even if she took on extra shifts.

So Saturday afternoon she made the call she never thought she’d make. She knew it could work, and that she’d bring home more money working fewer hours. Maybe she’d even have enough to pay for classes, once she paid for a car and furnace, of course.

Then Saturday night came, and Sandor came with it. In light of her decision, she knew she should push him away. She knew she should tell him she didn’t want to date him. But he poured his heart out right there on her porch steps, and she knew pushing him away would only hurt him, and she’d cut off her own toes before doing that.

She laid in bed watching him Sunday morning. She’d never watched him sleep before. He was so big and yet so vulnerable in that moment that she couldn’t help but smile.

Her smile was what he woke to find some minutes later. He looked confused for a moment, then happy. Then he rubbed his palms into his eyeballs as he rolled to his back, “Now I know why my room isn’t painted white. It’s too bloody bright in here.”

She giggled at the sight of him lying there, all dark hair and ripped muscle from the waist up, pink sheets from the waist down. She laughed and he turned to look at her.

“You look good in pink.”

He rolled toward her and took one of her nipples in his mouth, “Good, because pink is my new favorite color.”

His calloused finger wasted not a minute in finding _another_ pink place. With two digits buried inside her and his palm rubbing against her clit, all while his tongue flicked and laved at her breasts, she came undone quickly.

He rolled her onto her belly before she was down from her high. He mumbled behind her, “Don’t worry, I know your stance on morning breath kisses.” A second later he plunged inside her, pumping into her fast right out of the gate. He lifted her hips off the mattress and found her clit again and she came even harder than the first time, screaming into her pillow as she pulsed around his thick cock.

“Sansa?” he grunted behind her.

“Yeah?” she panted back.

“Should’ve asked this before now, but are you on the pill or something?”

She chuckled, “Yeah.”

“Oh thank fuck,” he grunted as he spent himself inside her. He dropped his head between her shoulder blades, catching his breath, “Cause there is no way I’m giving that up.”

…

Sansa decided to postpone her worries until tomorrow. She headed down to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. Sandor was only a few steps behind her. He kissed the top of her head, “I’ll be back in a little bit, just going to check on Tom and see what state my house was left in.”

“Alright, I’ll start on breakfast. You feeling pancakes, omelet, or French toast?”

He turned around while still walking toward the door and threw her a wink, “Surprise me.”

The front door was closed behind him for only a second before she heard shouting and cursing.

She ran out the front door and saw Sandor hovered over someone that was laying on her porch, telling him to get lost.

“Doesn’t Sansa live here anymore?”

_Fuck!_

“Ben?” she pulled Sandor back so she could get a good look.

Ben’s dark eyes looked up at her, “Sansa, my girl! I thought you left town and didn’t tell me.”

She groaned, “If I was smart I would.”

As Ben stood up on shaky legs, he looked at Sandor, “Who’s this?”

“My boyfriend. I mean, my friend. My neighbor. Whom I’m dating. Fuck, Ben, why are you here?”

“Can’t I pop in for a visit to see my favorite nieces and nephews?”

Sansa crossed her arms, “Popping in for a visit means showing up with a bottle of wine or a crumb cake, not sleeping on our porch. Gods, how long have you been out here?”

Ben shrugged, “It was late. Or early. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Where’s your car, Ben?” she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Sold it. I needed the money… for an investment opportunity.”

“Oh yeah? Were you investing in a distillery or a casino this time?”

“It wasn’t like that, Sansa! Gods, stop being so much like your mother.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Ben!”

Sandor held his arms out, no doubt expecting fists to fly, “Care to introduce me to your squatter?”

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, “Sorry. Sandor, this is my uncle Ben. My dad’s younger brother.”

Ben extended his hand, but Sandor backed up, “I’m not touching your fucking hand.”

Ben snorted, “Your boyfriend’s a dick, Sansa.”

“Nooo… my boyfriend is protective of me. He’s also a good judge of character so he probably knows you’re nothing but trouble. Now get out of here before the kids see you.”

“You’d turn me away Sansa?!”

She threw her head back and laughed bitterly, “Ben, I would take in a bum off the street before I took you in. At least with a bum there’s a small chance he won’t rob me. Now would you please leave, or do I need to—”

“Uncle Ben!”

“Fuck!” Sansa growled as Rick flew down the stairs and launched himself at Ben.

“Holy shit, boy, you’ve gotten tall! Where’s your sister and your brother?”

“Come on inside! I’ll get them.”

Ben turned to Sansa with a pitiful look on his face, “Maybe some other time, kiddo. I think your sister doesn’t want me coming in.”

“Sansa!” Rick plead.

She dropped her head, knowing resistance was futile, “There’s coffee brewing. Please wash your hands before you touch anything in my house.”

Rick and Ben beamed as they ran into the house.

She looked up at Sandor as she laced her fingers under his chin, “ _Now_ you ready to bolt?”

He snorted, “No, but I have a feeling I’ll be kicking your uncle’s ass before the week is through.”

She rolled her eyes, “Only when I’m around to see it, please.”

He chuckled and pulled her in for a hug. A trademark Sandor hug. Warm and tight and solid.

“Uh, sorry if me calling you my boyfriend was weird. I don’t know if that’s what we are but—”

“It’s fine, Sansa. I’d like it, if you’re okay with that. And if you’re not, it was still nice to hear that word spoken by your pretty little lips. Might be my favorite thing your lips do.”

She smiled against his chest.

“Wait, my second favorite. Or third… No, fourth. Definitely fourth.”

“What are the other three?”

“Your “O” lips, your lips on my cock, and your smile.”

She laughed against him.

“Wait, that sounded wrong. It’s your “O” lips, then your smile, then your lips on my cock. Then the boyfriend thing.”

She leaned her chin on his chest as she looked up at him, “What about kissing you?”

“Fuck… let’s just say I love everything your lips do.”

She winked, “Ditto. But I need to get inside and hide all my valuables. Are you still coming back over for breakfast?”

He shrugged, “If I’m still welcome.”

“Of course. I won’t even charge you for the entertainment.”

“That bad?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” she chuckled mirthlessly.

With a wave she went back inside to face Hurricane Ben.


	15. "I guess this day isn’t complete shit"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after Ch. 14

Ben was 100% as advertised. He regaled Rick, Arya, and Bran with all the crazy shit he’d done since he last saw them over a year ago. Sandor didn’t believe half of it. He didn’t think oil companies hired drunks to work on their rigs. He also didn’t think Ben could charm a female police officer out of writing him a speeding ticket. And he was damn sure that celebrity power couple Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand didn't invited guys like Ben to partake in wild sex parties.

Sansa rolled her eyes more times than Sandor could count. Bran watched with clinical fascination. Arya and Rick howled with laughter. Sandor could acknowledge that Ben knew how to spin a yarn, even if it was complete horseshit. Before going to jail, Sandor probably would have enjoyed drinking with him at a bar.

Eventually the _Ben Show_ concluded, and he inquired as to the wellbeing of the nieces and nephews he claimed to love so dearly. Rick proudly told Ben about getting suspended for setting off a quarter stick on school property. Ben weakly admonished him, though Sandor suspected it would have been a fist bump if Sansa weren’t present. Arya told Ben about her training at the boxing club – she’d gone there the first two times with Sandor but pretty quickly decided she didn’t need him. She wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the amateur and semi-pro fighters that trained there.

Bran tried to explain a mobile app he’d been developing but it was apparent Ben had only the barest grasp on what a smartphone was, so Bran gave up.

When he got to Sansa he asked if she was still working as a waitress. It didn’t seem he meant it as an insult, but her cheeks reddened as she nodded, “Yes, still waitressing at the diner and at the Dragon Pit.” She shifted in her seat, “Though, as it happens, I’m thinking of going to four shifts at the Dragon Pit and quitting the diner.”

“What?!” Arya gasped.

Sansa nodded sheepishly, “I’m not sure yet, but I can make more money in two good shifts at the club than six at the diner. I wouldn’t have to work as many hours.” Her eyes flicked to Sandor, but he held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time to ask why she was making this decision, nor was he sure he had the right. “…Then I’d have more time to spend with you kids, and… well, I was thinking of taking some classes online. Maybe.”

“San, why didn’t you tell us?” Arya asked.

Sansa shrugged, “I’ve only been thinking about it since Friday. I’m not certain yet.”

Ben cleared his throat, “Sansa, you know your dad wouldn’t like you working there at all. You in that little dress, surrounded by drunk men.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and began clearing the table, “Well Dad isn’t here. And if he were, I’m sure he’d be more concerned over the way you live your life than me.”

Ben bristled, “I’m not his kid, Sansa.”

“And I’m not a _kid_ period, Ben. I’m twenty-six, soon to be twenty-seven. I make $250 on Friday night at the Pit. Sometimes I don’t even crack $70 during a shift at the diner.”

“Wow, $250?!” Ben’s eyes widened.

Sansa shook her head, “Don’t ask me for money, Ben.”

“I wasn’t going to! Just proud of you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, funny how you went from condescending to proud the moment I mentioned _money.”_

“We were having a nice visit, Sansa. How come you always have to be so serious?”

Sansa snorted, “A nice visit? Ben, you only show up when you need something. A place to sleep, money, booze… all of the above. So let’s fast forward to the part where you tell me what you want. I’m too fucking tired to play this game.”

Ben leaned back, “It isn’t like that this time, Sansa. I haven’t had a drink in six months.”

“You slept on our porch last night, Ben. Is that what a sober person does?”

“I told you, I didn’t want to wake you guys or frighten you by banging on the door in the wee hours of the morning.”

Sansa huffed as she began loading dishes into the dishwasher. Sandor was fairly certain he should leave but felt too invested in hearing the end of the story to move a muscle. Moreover, Sansa might need his help kicking Ben out in a few minutes.

Ben stood and walked to where Sansa was clanking forks into the silverware tray angrily. He placed a hand on her shoulder, “Sansa, look at me.”

She did not.

He turned to the other kids, even Sandor, with a pleading look in his eyes. He sighed and leaned against the counter, “I should’ve been here for you guys more.”

Sansa chuckled, “Been here for us? Sure, that would have been nice. Would’ve been even nicer if you didn’t blow into town every six months to upend our lives.”

“I know, Sansa. I can’t take that back. I can only apologize.”

“Apology accepted. Now what do you want, Ben?”

Rick spoke meekly, “Maybe he just came for a visit this time, Sansa.”

Ben shook his head, “No, Ricky. Your sister is right. She always is, which is why you should always listen to her. I’m telling the truth when I said I haven’t had a drop in six months. And I didn’t sell my car to buy booze or drugs or even to gamble. I sold it to buy medicine.”

Sansa snapped her head up, “Don’t even—”

“It’s the truth, Sansa. I can show you paperwork from doctors… my liver’s shot,” he spoke to his feet.

Sansa’s face morphed from anger to disbelief then back again so quickly that Sandor might have missed it had he not been staring at her intently for the past five minutes.

“Don’t, Ben,” she whispered, though the threat in her words was plain.

“Sansa, please hear me out.”

“No,” she shook her head rapidly, “No. No!”

“What’s going on?” Rick asked, concern painting his normally carefree features.

“He needs a liver transplant,” Bran answered emotionlessly.

“What?!” Arya shrieked.

“How dare you?” Sansa hissed, “You come here and say this in front of the kids?”

“Sansa, shut up!” Arya yelped, “Ben, are you going to die if you don’t get a transplant?”

Ben lowered his head and nodded, “Eventually.”

“No!” Arya jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around Ben’s waist, followed seconds later by Rick.

Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose. Sandor couldn’t take it anymore and went to her side, clamping his arms around her shoulders.

“No,” she shook her head, “Don’t you dare ask this of us. Of _any_ of us. You think I’ll let one of my kids give you a piece of their liver just so you can destroy it again like you did with your first one?!”

“It’s not your decision!” Arya shouted.

“It is entirely my decision, I’m your guardian, Arya!”

“Then I’ll do it when I turn eighteen.”

“Please,” Ben clasped his hands together, “I didn’t mean to make you fight. Listen, Sansa. All I’m asking is that you all do the test. If any of you is a match, then you can consider—”

“No!” she yelled, louder than Sandor had ever heard, and he’d heard her yell a lot, “No! Get the fuck out, Ben! I can’t believe you’re pulling this shit. You are such a manipulative son of a bitch. You knew exactly what would happen if you mentioned this in front of Arya and Rick. You knew it would upset them. You did it on purpose. You don’t fucking care about any of us!”

“Sansa that’s not fair!”

She shoved him so hard he fell back against the fridge, “No, _you’re_ not fair. All your life you’ve made the world revolve around you. Only showing up when _you_ felt like it, when _you_ needed someone, not when someone else needed you! You weren’t there for my dad when he had to take over the family business at twenty-four because Grandpa and Uncle Brandon died. You weren’t there when my parents needed help after Bran’s accident. You weren’t there for us when our parents died and we had to move in with Petyr, that fucking creep! You weren’t there to help me raise the kids and take Bran to therapy and run a fucking household so Robb could finish his education. And you’ve never been there since, not when we need money, not when we need help! You come here like a tornado every time, destroying everything and then disappearing before you can even take the blame. So if you even _think_ about taking one of the kids for this test while I’m not around, so help me Gods, I will rip whatever’s left of your decrepit liver out with my bare hands and toss it in the fucking ocean!”

Arya and Rick stood stunned, perhaps by their sister’s colorful threat, or perhaps by the realization that their uncle was a monumental fuck-up. Even Bran’s eyes were wide – the first time Sandor had seen anything but apathy in his countenance. Sansa was trembling and panting as if she’d just outrun an axe-wielding psychopath. And Ben… Ben looked like he was finally discovering what regret felt like.

Sansa pointed at the front door. Ben nodded and left, utterly defeated. The silence in the kitchen was heavy and dark. Sandor didn’t know what to do or say. No one did. All he knew was that if Rick or Arya opened their mouth to protest Sansa’s decision, Sandor would find out what it felt like to beat a child.

Sansa eventually collapsed into a chair, eyes now looking glazed over instead of wild with rage.

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” Rick mumbled weakly.

Sansa took a deep breath, imbuing herself with energy she didn’t have, “It’s okay, Rick. I know you love Uncle Ben, and that’s okay…”

“No, I meant I’m sorry about… everything. I never really thought about things from your point of view.”

Sansa sighed, “I never wanted you to, Rick. You’re a kid.”

…

Sandor knocked on her bedroom door frame, “Hey… can I come in?”

Sansa was lying on her pink bed, facing the wall. A shrug was her only response.

With tentative steps he crossed the room and laid behind her on the bed, chest to back.

By the snotty sniffles he knew she’d been crying.

“How are the kids?” she asked him after several minutes.

Sandor didn’t really know. After Sansa ran upstairs the four of them sat at the table in mutually contemplative silence. Sandor was pissed at Ben on Sansa’s behalf, but the kids obviously loved him. There seemed to be nothing safe he could say. Arya teared up. Rick teared up. Seeing Rick’s tears Arya steeled her spine and yanked Rick up, practically ordering him to get Tom and go to the park with her.

Sandor sighed, “Sad, but alright, I think. Arya and Rick took Tom to the park. Bran is back in his room… how are _you_?”

She shrugged again, “I wish I could hate him.”

Sandor stroked the dip of her waist, “Trust me, hating him will bring you no joy.”

“Perhaps not, but at least I wouldn’t be feeling guilty.”

“Sansa, you have no reason to feel guilty. Sounds like the man has done nothing for you, so you don’t need to do—”

“I know… I know that. I can’t explain it.”

“Try,” Sandor gently urged her.

She sighed, “He was my dad’s baby brother. They were only two years apart, but Ben was a wild child and my dad was mature beyond his years…”

Sandor nodded but knew more was coming.

“They lost their parents, brother, and sister – Jon’s mom. Do you remember hearing about that plane crash? You would’ve been a kid when it happened... It was a charter plane that got caught in an unexpected ice storm. Ended up crashing into the side of a mountain. All ten passengers plus the pilot were killed.”

“Don’t think I ever heard about it.”

Sansa nodded, “Well anyway, that’s how my grandparents and aunt and uncle died. I was a newborn when it happened. Robb was still in diapers.”

“Damn. That must have been hard on your parents.”

“It was. My dad had to take over his dad’s business all while having a family to raise – me, Robb, Jon… Ben just left town. My dad never even blamed him – said it was Ben’s way of avoiding the grief. My mom would have something less kind to say…

Anyway, that’s why there are so many years between Arya and me. My parents had their hands full, and my dad was really distraught after losing his family. Eventually he sold the business and got a corporate job, instead. That’s when they decided to have Arya, then Bran. Rickon was… well I think he was a surprise…”

Sansa took a deep quivering breath, “All through my childhood my dad always said Robb was just like our Uncle Brandon. Arya was just like Aunt Lyanna. Bran was just like grandpa Rick, even though he was named after our Uncle. And Rick… well Rick was just like Uncle Ben. My dad would say that with fondness. My mom would roll her eyes and pray he was wrong.”

“Who were you like?”

“My mom,” Sansa smiled a bit then, though it was a half-hearted gesture, “My dad used to call me his little Tully girl. That was my mom’s maiden name. I was prim and proper like the Tullys, all my other siblings were rough and tough like the Starks. Even Bran was, before his accident… anyway we grew up, of course, not knowing all these Stark relatives. Except Ben. Ben would blow into town on the wind. He’d bring us all these little gifts from his travels. That’s where Arya got her Dornish sword from. Yes – he gave a kindergartener a sword. Ben was a wanderer. But I guess wandering got him into drinking and drugs. My dad used to say he was self-medicating because he never truly mourned his family, never moved past it… My mom hated when he came around because all her kids, myself included, would idolize him. He lived this wild, carefree life. He saw every corner or Westeros, much of Essos. He went to concerts, political protests, fell in love more times than we could count… we thought he was so cool. So free spirited…

I never met Aunt Lyanna, so I have to trust my dad’s appraisal, but all I see in Arya is Ben. I see him in Rick, too – my dad and I agree on that. So as much as Ben drives me mad when he comes around, I can understand why my dad never stopped loving him, why my dad could never turn him away. Because if Rick or Arya turn out to be just like him, I’d never stop loving them. I’d never stop protecting them.”

Sandor sighed, “It’s not wrong to love someone for the good in them. We’ve all got bad in us, some more than others, so if that’s all we focused on, no one would ever love anyone.”

Sansa’s face squeezed up and she began crying again, “I don’t want him to die.”

“Baby…” Sandor was at a loss as to offering words of comfort, so instead he sat up and pulled Sansa into his lap. Her arms clamped around his shoulders and she cried against his neck. And cried. And cried. And cried.

Eventually her little sobs quieted, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Sansa. This is heavy shit.”

“I know but you don’t need to get caught up in it. This is your Sunday, too. You work hard all week and—”

“Stop that,” Sandor pinched her chin, “You think me so heartless that I could go sit in my recliner and relax while you’re over here suffering?”

“No, which is why this isn’t—”

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say you’re not good for me, or that this relationship won’t work. I fucking love you, Sansa, and I’d love you even if you had ten crazy uncles.”

She stared at him, bewildered, until he replayed his words and found her cause for confusion.

“I mean…” he started.

“I love you, too.”

“You do?” he looked up.

She smiled, “Yeah.”

Sandor nodded and hoped she couldn’t tell that his heart was swelling so much that it made it hard to breathe. It took him a few deep breaths before he could speak again, “Well, I guess this day isn’t complete shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case it isn't obvious, Uncle Ben is inspired by Frank's character in U.S. Shameless.


	16. "You’re a waste of a good brain"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up day after Ch. 15 (Hurricane Ben blowing into town)

“You’re Myranda’s friend?” the buxom redhead asked with one eyebrow raised skeptically.

Sansa forced a smile, “Yes, Sansa.”

The woman – Ros – nodded one time, “Right. Myranda said you’ve worked at the Pit.”

Sansa nodded.

Ros sighed, “Look, I normally only hire girls with experience. This is a classy place, and we have a reputation to maintain for having the best girls in town. But as a favor to Myranda I’ll give you a chance. You’ll get two nights to show me you’re not a waste of stage time. Got it?”

Sansa nodded, swallowing the fear that hadn’t abated since she left the house this morning.

“If you do alright in those two nights, I’ll give you four shifts like you want. Monday through Thursday. You have to earn the right to work Friday and Saturday here. Got it?”

Sansa winced, “Any chance I can get _Sunday_ , Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday?”

Ros looked at her like she had three heads, “Sunday? No one wants to work on a Sunday.”

“Well, you see… my family doesn’t know I’m working here. They don’t know I got fired from the Pit. And the Pit is closed on Mondays.”

Ros cocked an eyebrow again and Sansa braced for a lecture on the merits of honesty and dangers of deceit. But apparently that was only Sansa projecting, because all Ros asked was, “Why’d you get canned, anyway?”

Sansa was afraid to tell her the truth but didn’t want to lie to a friend of Myranda’s, “I may have punched a guy who’d been harassing me at the club after he grabbed my ass and shoved his hand up my skirt. Ordinarily Dave would have taken my side, but apparently the guy was well connected.”

Ros’ look of suspicion transformed into admiration, “Was it worth it?”

Sansa snorted, “I’d like to say so, only I’m not in a position to lose that income steam. I have three kids, uh, my siblings, that I’ve been raising for the past nine years.”

Ros nodded sympathetically, “Myranda mentioned that. It’s admirable, but I can’t have you missing shifts because of your kids. When you’re not on stage you’ll be working the floor, and it gets pretty busy here, particularly on Thursday nights.

Sansa nodded enthusiastically, “I have an exemplary work record. I’ve rarely called in sick or even been late. The kids are older, they basically take care of themselves at this point.” It was a bit of a lie. Arya and Bran took care of themselves, but Rick couldn’t be left to his own devices. Hence Sansa was grateful he was currently on _in-school_ suspension, not at-home suspension. She never understood how schools thought giving kids at-home suspension was supposed to be a punishment, anyway.

Ros shrugged, “If you say so. You can start tomorrow night. Tuesdays are relatively slow – it’ll help you ease into things. Talk to the other girls if you have any questions.”

“Um… what should I wear?”

Ros chuckled, “That’s a question. But I’m sure a smart girl like you can figure it out.”

Sansa sighed and moved onto her next stop with almost as much reluctancy.

She met Ben at a different diner than the one she normally worked at. She had switched shifts with Mya so she could have off today and didn’t want Mya or anyone else seeing her there.

They sat in a far booth and ordered coffees. Ben looked contrite for the first time in his life, and Sansa had to hope that was a positive indicator.

“Thank you for seeing me, Sansa.”

“Save it. This has nothing to do with the liver transplant, and I am still _staunchly_ opposed to any of the kids getting tested. But I am willing to give you the chance to prove that I should consider it.”

Ben’s eyes lit up, “Really? Anything, Sansa. Just tell me what to do.”

“I’m going to work at the Pit four nights a week. Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Seven to two. Which means that the boys will be alone from 6:30 to 11:15 on the nights Arya works.”

Ben nodded, “You want me to babysit?”

“Bran is no trouble, as you know. But Rick needs _active_ supervision. You can’t just pass out in the basement. And you _cannot_ leave the house unless he’s with you. Not to go to a bar, not to buy a pack of cigarettes, not to pick up take-out… Got it?”

Ben nodded. Sansa sighed, “I take it you don’t have anywhere to sleep?”

“No. I’d been… well, I’d been living in my car. After I sold it to pay for the meds, I came here. I’m sorry, Sansa, I—”

“I told you to save it. I don’t want apologies; I want your help.”

“And your boyfriend? He won’t help you?”

Sansa laughed bitterly, “You know what Ben? He’s done more to help me and the kids than you ever have. But unlike you, he’s a productive member of society; meaning he gets up at 6 AM every day and works until five. He would do it if I asked, but I will _not_ ask him to spend up to four nights a week babysitting.”

Ben shook his head, “He looks rough, Sansa. How well do you even know him?”

Sansa felt her skin prickle with anger, “He _is_ rough, Ben. He’s had a tough life. And yet, he didn’t let that turn him into a degenerate alcoholic.” It felt only a little bit like a lie. Sandor admitted to Sansa that before going to prison he drank way too much. But he held down the same job at the truck repair shop for a decade, so in Sansa’s book he had been a _functioning_ alcoholic, not a _degenerate_ alcoholic. Sansa of Winter Town wouldn’t have appreciated the difference. Sansa of White Harbor did.

She sighed, hating how easy it would be for someone to judge Sandor only on his past, “Most importantly, he cares about the kids and they care about him. And you haven’t earned the right to question me about my choice of boyfriend – or anything else, for that matter.”

Ben held his hands up, “Fine. I deserve that. But just for the record, Sansa, I’m tired of you implying I don’t care. I _do_ care. I always have. I know I never showed it, and that’s all that really matters, but if you think I don’t care…” he sighed into his coffee mug, “well you’re wrong.”

She eyed him warily. He did appear to be genuine, only it was dangerous to let sober Ben sweet talk you. She had made that mistake before. She did not doubt that Sober Ben cared about his nieces and nephews, even if he didn’t show it in any practical way. Drunk Ben was a different story. Drunk Ben was the life of the party – until he wasn’t. Something would set him off, and he’d rage. He’d become Mean Drunk Ben – angry, spiteful, and hateful. Mean Drunk Ben could cut you down like no one else, finding your soft underbelly and attacking it with impeccable precision. For Robb and Jon, he’d convince them they were pieces of shit for “abandoning” their siblings/cousins and leaving Sansa to raise the kids. In the same breath he’d make Sansa feel like a failure as a parent. The younger kids were rarely the targets of his vitriol – apparently that’s where Ben drew the line – but he wasn’t above turning them against Sansa. In hindsight and after Ben blew out of town, the kids would come around and even apologize to Sansa, but in the heat of the moment, with Ben’s masterful manipulation, they never saw what he was doing.

But if Ben truly was committed to sobriety (and that was a big ‘if’), and if he had to _stay_ committed to squeeze as much time out of his liver as possible, then perhaps they’d finally get to enjoy Sober Ben for longer than a week or two. He wouldn’t become the image of avuncular responsibility, Sansa knew, but she didn’t want to deny the kids the opportunity to have a healthy relationship with one of the few family members they had left. Sansa had always felt cheated by the Gods who took away her Stark grandparents, aunt and uncle before she could get to know them. Four people were stolen from them, not to mention all the cousins they could have had. When nearly two decades later her own parents died it felt like the Gods were fucking with them on purpose. So if Ben could be redeemed, she owed it to her siblings and herself to assist him on that journey.

She took a sip of coffee, staring at him over the rim, “Has it really been six months?”

“Strap me to a lie detector.”

He held her gaze, and she saw the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn’t lying – not about this.

“Well I hope it stays that way. For the kids’ sakes.”

Ben's eyes widened, “Me too. Now, you gonna tell me where you’re really working?”

Sansa’s head snapped back, “I told you… I’m doing four shifts at the Pit…”

Ben tucked his chin and raised his brows. It looked so much like her father that Sansa wanted to cry. He stared at her for painful seconds before talking again, “Sunday and Tuesday? You seem to forget how much partying I’ve done in my life. Maybe in Sunspear or King’s Landing you can find a club that’s popping on a Sunday or Tuesday, but not in White Harbor. You’d make better money at the diner.”

Sansa’s cheeks burned again, this time from embarrassment, “You’re a waste of a good brain, you know that?”

He chuckled, “I’ve heard it once or twice. Now you going to answer my question? Honesty goes both ways, and I’m going to assume that the kids don’t know the truth. Shouldn’t at least one person know where you are four nights a week?”

Sansa sighed, “Silk.”

Ben nodded and Sansa could tell he was biting his tongue. Ultimately, he only asked, “How long?”

“I start tomorrow. Got canned from the Pit. Punched the wrong guy.”

Ben smiled proudly, “I’d tell you to leave it to that giant boyfriend of yours to throw your punches, but you’re too much like Lyanna to do that, so I won’t waste my breath.”

Sansa knew her mouth dropped open, and knew Ben was amused by that fact, but she couldn’t rein in her surprise, “I’m like Aunt Lyanna?”

Ben sipped his coffee, “ _Oh_ yeah!”

“No… I’m like _Mom_. Arya is like Lyanna. Dad always said so.”

Ben shrugged, “Arya is like _me_ , I’m sorry to say. We’ve only got two sides: fun or angry. But Lyanna, she had this calmness about her. She was a proper lady. But when someone pissed her off – _look out!”_ Ben’s smile turned wistful, “She could get so incensed at time that we’d call her the _Mad Stark._ But she would just lift her nose and say _‘But there’s a method to my madness’_. And that was true. I think that’s what attracted Ned to your mom – she reminded him of Lyanna. Catelyn was so ladylike, but with those rare people who didn’t deserve her kindness, she wasn’t ashamed to let that fiery temper show. I didn’t like it, because I was the main recipient of it over the years, but I could respect it.”

Sansa felt tears threatening to escape, and Ben must have noticed for he changed the subject, “Well, I know I don’t need to tell you to be careful, but I’ll do it anyway. And I won’t tell the kids. I know you’re doing it for them.”

Sansa nodded, “It’s just temporary, Ben. I can make enough money there to pay off Rick’s braces, to pay for a new furnace, a used car… My hope is a year from now I’ll be _ahead_ for a change, then I can go back to the diner and go to school online, or at night.”

Ben nodded, “Your dad would like that. He always said you were the smartest Stark ever born.”

Okay, Sansa was pretty certain he was purposely testing her tear ducts as this point, but she wouldn’t complain. It was so rare to talk about her parents. She only reminisced occasionally with Robb and Jon. Arya got too angry when she thought about them. Rick didn’t remember much about them; Sansa had been his mom longer than Catelyn had been. And Bran… Bran didn’t dwell on the past, or even see much sense in talking about it.

Ben cleared his throat, “I want to do more than be your live-in babysitter. Maybe in a few weeks I’ll see about a job. I know I’m not qualified for much, but maybe I can get something part-time on the nights you’re not working. I’d like to contribute.”

A big part of her brain told her it was bullshit, but she couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of someone being willing to help out. Perhaps he was finally growing up now that he was pushing fifty. Or perhaps facing his own mortality had put things in perspective.

Or perhaps he was telling her everything she wanted to hear because he needed her. Her house, her money, a piece of her liver…

But despite the front she put out there, she was still an optimist at heart. She wouldn’t trust Ben blindly, but she thought he might be sincere for once, and she knew the kids – Arya in particular – would never forgive her if she turned their uncle away now.

“So, dare I ask what your boyfriend thinks of your new job?” Ben lifted an eyebrow in the same way her father did whenever scolding one of his kids.

Sansa cringed, “I haven’t exactly… told him.”

Ben had the nerve to laugh, “Bad idea.”

Sansa threw her head back and groaned, “ _I know!_ I know it’s a bad idea. I know he has the right to know. But I’m only starting there on a trial basis. I don’t want to have _that_ conversation in case it doesn’t work out.”

“And what’ll you do if it doesn’t work out?”

She threw her hands up, “I dunno! You know any other ways I can pull in twelve hundred cash each week without a college degree?”

Ben almost spit out his coffee, “Twelve hundred cash?!”

Sansa nodded, “It might even be more. Myranda used to pull $400 on Thursday nights. It varies from week to week.”

“Holy shit! You better _make_ it work out! Have you, ehm…” Ben leaned across the table, “ _practiced_?”

Sansa’s cheeks were officially aflame, “Practice _how_? And _where?_ Do you see any stripper poles around?”

Ben pursed his lips, squinted at his coffee, then looked up with the most mischievous grin Sansa had ever seen on anyone _ever._ The resemblance to Arya was almost frightening.

_…_

And that’s how she ended up taking four shots of Patron and spinning around the 5” metal pole in the basement that supported the center of their house. Ben, who hadn’t had a drop, demonstrated moves he’d seen strippers make over the years, with all the seriousness of someone teaching his kid how to drive, not teaching his niece how to pole dance.

It was degrading, mortifying, terrifying… and one of the best nights Sansa had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a bit. I have a certain story arc starting in Chapter 19, but I'm afraid it may be too much even for this fic, so I decide to scrap it. Then I realize this is a GOT/Shameless crossover - NOTHING is too much for this AU, so I salvage it. Then I second guess myself again, and so on. 
> 
> Maybe I should take a vote... do ya'll have tolerance for something outrageous in a serious way? It will deepen the bond between Sandor and Sansa, but present a very unpleasant situation for both of them in the short term (though one they'll go through together).


	17. “What are you thinking about?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Sansa independently reflect on their relationship to-date.  
> Note, time jump of ~2 months since the events of Ch. 16.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the timeline I *try* to keep updated, we are at about Day 160 after Sandor's release from prison. So he has known the Starks for just over five months. Hopefully I've been consistent to this timeline in prior chapters though admittedly I sometimes lose sight of it while I'm focusing on writing it and then only update it in retrospect.

For the first time ever, life was _good_ for Sandor Clegane. He had a girlfriend he was crazy about and who – oddly enough – was crazy about him. He had a job he liked. He had his health. And he had a _family._ Bran and Arya were like his little brother and sister. And Rick – well, he’d never admit it out loud, but sometimes it felt like Rick was his son.

Rick had started on the ice hockey team and often Sandor and Sansa were the ones to take him to practice. Since she’d quit the diner, her Mondays and Fridays were free, and the other weekdays were free until about six PM. When Rick had afterschool practice on those days, Sansa would take him there and Sandor would stop by on his way home from work. There’d be about a half hour overlap before Sansa had to leave to get ready for work, then Sandor would bring Rick home, sometimes stopping at McDonald’s for a McFlurry, and never bringing any back for Arya. _Hehe._

Sandor wasn’t crazy about the newest addition to the Stark household, but he and Ben chose to mostly ignore one another. At least the man was staying clean and hadn’t hocked all of Sansa’s valuables… yet. Sandor had even gotten him a _very_ part-time job at the shop doing general clean-up and organizing. He worked for six hours two days a week. It wasn’t much, at least he wasn’t always bumming Sansa and Sandor’s cigarettes now.

Though Sandor had largely gotten used to the baseline crazy of the Stark family, being at their house was still overwhelming at times. Arya and Rick obviously inherited their loud mouths and energy levels from Ben. Sandor would come over for dinner on a Friday evening to find the furniture pushed to the perimeter of the living room to make space for Ben and Arya to box, or Ben and Rick to wrestle. Classic rock would be blaring, and in the kitchen Sansa would be clattering pots and pans while making dinner. Truthfully, it reminded Sandor of prison during lunch time. After working all day in the noisy garage, then spending the evening at the loud house, he’d plop in bed and the abrupt silence would make him wonder if he’d gone deaf.

Sometimes he’d invite Sansa over to his house to try to have a relaxed, quiet evening, but inevitably Arya would invite herself. That often meant Gendry would show up. Rick would tag along, sometimes with Ben. All Sandor would have accomplished was giving Bran a quiet house for the evening, though he supposed the kid appreciated it, even if Sandor never did it on purpose.

It should have all been too much, but it wasn’t. His normally lonely house would suddenly be filled with laughter, banter, and sometimes even singing. Sansa would tease Rick. Sandor would tease Arya. Arya would tease everybody. Whatever meal for two Sandor had planned would get stuffed in the fridge and he’d order three large pizzas or a bucket of chicken (because those reckless people who shuttled strangers around also delivered fast food, apparently).

They’d watch movies, play board games, debate, and argue. They’d argue Coca-Cola versus Pepsi, mustard versus ketchup, cake versus pie. Sandor remembered fondly the night Sansa chased Arya around the house because she’d sprinkled neon orange cheese flavoring all over the communal bowl of popcorn. By then Sandor knew that Sansa was staunchly opposed to any popcorn topping that wasn’t butter or salt.

Then there was the “friendly” arm-wrestling match that ended with Rick and Arya having to be pried apart by Sandor and Ben. Minutes later Rick and Arya made peace and put their heads together to figure out the lowest-weight combination of people that could beat Sandor in an arm wrestle. It ended up being Gendry and Rick, mainly because Gendry was freakishly strong for a guy that barely came up to Sandor’s chest, and because Rick was a scrawny little shit whose body mass was solely comprised of bone and muscle.

Sometimes Bronn would somehow find out they were gathering without him (Sandor suspected Gendry was to blame) and would show up with Beric, Thoros, and Tormund. When that happened, Sandor and Sansa would find an opportunity to sneak across the street and spend the night in each other’s arms in what was temporarily the quiet house. Knowing Bran wore headphones so he could speak to his fellow coders, they didn’t even have to worry about making noise.

Less than six months ago, Sandor had been in jail. He expected to get out and spend the rest of his life alone and lonely but for the occasional visit from Beric and Bronn. He had no intention of going back to the days of getting shitfaced at bars and blowing off steam by getting in a fight or fucking some random chick. He had imagined himself turning into the less chatty, male version of Betty. He’d sit on his porch and watch life happen all around him, but never actually partake in it. If he was lucky, some neighbor kid would offer to help around the house and grounds but more likely he’d need to pay professionals.

Who was he kidding? On that life trajectory, he’d never make it to Betty’s ripe old age. With nothing and no one to live for, and no reason to not be angry all the time, his heart would probably give out before he reached the national retirement age.

Yet somehow in a matter of a few months his entire vision of the future had changed. Now it was he and Sansa sitting on the porch, sipping lemonades and chatting. Maybe they’d have kids and grandkids, even if only through Bran, Rick, or Arya. Maybe Arya and Gendry would marry and live across the street from them and the two couples would get together to play Pinochle.

“What are you thinking about?”

Sansa’s voice reminded Sandor that he was lying in her pink bed on a sunny autumn morning, staring at nothing in particular with a wistful smile on his face.

“The future,” he answered.

She snuggled into his arm, “Mmm… am I in it?”

“You’re the main character.”

She giggled, “Good. It better stay that way.”

Sandor rolled them over so that he was on top, letting his morning wood rest against her cleft. He looked in her eyes, knowing she wasn’t expecting a response but that he desperately wanted to give her one, “Always.” He kissed her neck and buried his face in her hair as he pushed into her and began moving slowly. She seemed to have been stunned by that one little word, for it took her a while to move with him.

Once she got in the rhythm, she brought one hand up to scratch into his scalp, a feeling that never failed to make him shudder. He deepened his thrusts while keeping their bodies pressed close. Morning sex was always about connection for them, not getting off. Though he always _did_ get off, Sansa usually wanted to focus on feeling close to him instead of chasing an orgasm. In the morning her hands were always more exploratory, stroking his arms, the length of his spine, his face and hair. Even her feet explored him – stroking his calves. Though he felt exposed the first time they made love in such a way, he enjoyed it now. At night he was vigorous and hungry, using his lips and tongue to map every inch of her skin. But morning was her time to map him with her hands, and this morning she seemed fixated on his-- 

“Sansa!” the door swung open with the sound of Rick’s voice.

“Fuck,” Sandor groaned. He stilled but didn’t move. With the sheet down at his hips, if he put space between himself and Sansa, Rick would get an eyeful of big sister titty. 

“Rick!” Sansa shrieked.

Sandor turned his head to see Rick standing in the doorway, covering his eyes but not leaving, “I have a game at 10:30, remember?! And I need to be there early for warm-ups.”

“What time is it?”

“After 9!”

“Shit,” Sansa groaned.

“It’s alright, San, I’ll take him,” Ben’s voice and face came into view. The fucker didn’t have the courtesy to look away or cover his eyes like the kid had done. He just stood in the doorway laughing.

“Will you both get out!!??” Sandor growled in the most threatening voice he could summon.

Ben rolled his eyes but pulled Rick back and shut the door.

Now it was Sansa who covered her eyes, “I am _sooo_ sorry.”

Sandor sighed, “My fault. I think when I went to the bathroom last night, I forgot to lock the door again.”

Sansa nodded, “Any chance we can finish this later? It’s his first game and I really want to take him.”

Sandor pulled his now soft cock out of its nest (yes, that’s how his cock referred to Sansa’s tweeter) and rolled back to his side of the bed, “Yeah, I’ll get dressed and come with you if that’s alright. Kid’s been talking about it all week.”

“He’d love that,” Sansa smiled at him as she pulled on underwear.

Sandor let out a loud sigh, but he wasn’t truly mad. Once again, he _should_ have been bothered by the lack of privacy he and Sansa had, but he couldn’t be, because it was just another little example of what it meant to have a family – something he’d gone without his entire life. He didn’t think it would ever stop feeling novel.

…

It was easy enough to mask her anxiety as excitement during Rick’s hockey game. When Sandor caught her chewing her lip, he would just assume she was nervous about the outcome of the game, or about Rick getting hurt. But truthfully, she’d been agonizing over when and how to tell him about her new _profession_.

Originally, her plan had been to tell him after her two-day trial period, assuming she was hired. When that time came and went, she thought she should give it a couple weeks; after all she was still uncertain whether she could dance for any significant length of time – even knowing it was a temporary measure.

Her first night at Silk they eased her into it. Despite acting tough, Ros was a caring woman. Sansa only had to go on stage once; the rest of the night she walked around serving drinks. Oddly enough, it was easy to forget she was topless. Partly because she was surrounded by _other_ topless women, so she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, and partly because she was used to being ogled by men at the Pit, anyway. If anything, the men at Silk were more respectful, perhaps because they took pity on the poor women who allowed themselves to be totally exposed for their entertainment. At the Pit, with the tight black dress creating a false sense of propriety, men would stare unabashedly. In some ways, she felt _less_ exposed now.

On stage was very different though. She managed not to make a fool of herself but didn’t feel the least bit graceful despite years of childhood ballet and jazz dance lessons. Afterwards, however, one of the other girls complimented her on doing well for her first time. Not knowing whether she was being placated, Sansa took the praise with a grain of salt, but Ros let her come back the following night. Sansa felt a little more relaxed during her two times on stage that night and wasn’t the least bit self-conscious about serving drinks topless. Another oddity she had observed – the female patrons of the club checked her out way more conspicuously than the men did. Whether those women were trying to prove to their boyfriends that they weren’t prudes or whether they actually were attracted to other women, Sansa didn’t know and didn’t care.

When her first two weeks were in the books, she wanted to tell Sandor, but couldn’t. She rationalized her decision to keep it a secret a little while longer but was smart enough to know she was just a coward. Sandor had given no indications of being a possessive man, but the risk that he wouldn’t want to be with her was more than she could stand. Every time she braced herself to tell him the truth – like she had done about a hundred times to-date – she became so afraid that she thought she might vomit.

And the longer it went on, the more frightened she was to tell him. During the first few weeks, if she told him and he freaked out, she could say it was out of pure desperation; she could come clean about getting fired from the Dragon Pit and say she took the job with Ros just to tide her over until she found another bottle girl gig. He might be mad, but if he believed it was only intended to last a few weeks, she thought he would understand.

But weeks turned into months…

She’d now worked at Silk for two months and was on track to make more money in four months than she made at the diner all year! Moreover, she wasn’t exhausted every single day. Not including commute time, she worked just under 30 hours a week and made more than she had working 60+ hours a week across three jobs. She had Friday and Saturdays free, though in time she could pick up one of those shifts if she wanted to make even more money. She had off every Monday – a whole weekday to catch up on cleaning, errands, shopping, and whatever else was easier to do while the kids were at school.

Ben had so far stuck to his word. He tended to disappear into the basement or go for a walk whenever anyone was drinking more than a glass of wine with dinner, but he’d maintained his sobriety and hadn’t let her down yet in helping with Rick, though she wasn’t asking him to do anything beyond keeping Rick from hurting himself or somehow destroying their house. He also was working a few hours a week at Jorah’s garage. It wasn’t much, but it gave him spending money.

Sandor threw his arms up beside her and Sansa realized she’d missed Rick scoring a goal. She decided she had to put on her big girl panties and tell Sandor soon, so she gave herself a deadline. She’d tell him Friday night, that way she’d have all day Saturday and Sunday to talk with him before her shift Sunday night. She was sure he would understand after she explained all her reasons to him but would need _time_ to explain.

When she saw how proudly Sandor was grinning as a result of Rick’s goal, she couldn’t help but fall more in love with him. It simultaneously cemented the fact that she needed to tell him while making the prospect of doing so all the more terrifying.

_What if he **doesn’t** understand? What if he doesn’t accept it?_


	18. "Are you saying cleaning gets you hot?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't let Crymson_Tyde die while waiting for an update on this. :)  
> Another light and fun chapter before some shit hits the fan.

Sansa could not be more in love with her boyfriend.

She had complained to Sandor about how hard it was for Ben to find even minimum wage part-time work. The places that would hire a man with zero references (he had had many jobs in his life but left none of them on friendly terms) tended not to give their employees any control over their schedule. Since Sansa needed Ben home weeknights with Rick, that wasn’t an option.

So Sandor had taken it upon himself to speak with his boss, Jorah, about hiring Ben to help clean and organize the garage a few hours a week. Sandor always griped about how tools and parts were constantly being misplaced, and the bathroom was dirtier than the ones found at highway truck stops, so Sansa knew his motives weren’t entirely altruistic, but she was touched by the gesture, nonetheless. And somehow Ben knew what a slide hammer was, which impressed Sandor. Ben would work Wednesdays and Fridays for about 4-6 hours, or however long it took to straighten the place up.

That Sansa showed up at the shop the following Monday with peanut butter chocolate chip cookies was simply a coincidence.

Beric and Sandor were pleasantly surprised to see her, but Sansa was blushing when she heard the other techs sarcastically apologize to Sandor for assuming “Sansa” was the name of his sex doll. Despite her embarrassment, she reared up and was ready to defend Sandor in some way – insult the other men’s intelligence, kick them in the balls, question their penile endowment, or perhaps just make out with Sandor in front of them – when Sandor dragged her away to Jorah’s office, mumbling _“Down girl”_ as they walked, even though she saw a hint of pride on his face.

Jorah, who appeared to be in his late fifties, was almost literally up to his neck in paperwork, and Sansa immediately got horny for organizing. She had to squeeze the tray of cookies to keep her hands from compulsively sorting through his papers, separating invoices from work orders from tax bills from payroll documents – they were all scattered on his desk, intermingled in the most unholy of ways!

Sandor spoke to get Jorah’s attention, “Hey Jorah, this is my girlfriend Sansa. Ben’s niece. She stopped by to bring the guys cookies and I wanted you to meet her.”

The deeply engrained manners of Catelyn Stark’s daughter went out the window. Instead of saying anything even remotely resembling a friendly greeting, Sansa blurted out, “ _Please_ let me organize your office!”

Jorah looked at Sandor in confusion. Sandor looked back at Jorah, then at Sansa, then back at Jorah.

Not caring that she didn’t have permission, and that she _definitely_ looked like a crazy person, Sansa thrust the plate of cookies into Sandor’s hands and began attacking the clutter. She knew it was completely inappropriate but was powerless to stop herself. Despite her house looking like the aftermath of a frat party even on its better days, Sansa herself was a neat and organized person. The household bills were filed promptly. She kept track of her income and expenses in a spreadsheet so that she’d never overdraw her account or miss a payment. She _despised_ fees and penalties. And unlike the rest of the house, her bedroom was always tidy. _Always._

“Do you have file folders?” she asked with exasperation when she realized just how bad the situation was.

Sandor was staring at her, mouth agape. Jorah looked at her like she had three heads.

After getting over his stupor, Jorah nodded, “Uh… yeah.” The man dug around and produced a handful of crisp manilla folders. Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. If they were used and crinkled, she would probably have gone to Office Depot and returned with a frightening number of supplies.

She yanked open the drawers of his filing cabinet, finding each was filled beyond the brim, “You have documents in here from 2008! You know you only need to keep five years’ worth of records, right?”

Jorah shrugged, “Haven’t gotten around to shredding.”

She clapped her hands together, “Well you need to get around to it! You can’t work like this,” Sansa pointed at his desk, “All this clutter! How can you even _think_?”

Jorah shrugged again. Sansa shook her head, “Where’s your paper shredder?”

He pointed below a long table. The five-sheet shredder was covered in dust. Sansa tsked, “This will _not_ do.” Crazy, OCD Sansa took possession of her body and she all but shoved Jorah and Sandor out of the office. “Someone bring me some contractor bags!” she shouted at no one in particular.

Over the next several hours, Sansa dragged a total of five big bags’ worth of old paperwork through the garage and out to Big Jack, each time earning the perplexed attention of every guy in the place. She imagined she looked like the inverse of a bull in a china shop to them. There she was in her leggings, second-hand J. Crew sweater, and ballet flats, while all around her were sweaty, greasy, steel toe boot-wearing men, gigantic trucks, and machinery and tools that could easily kill a person.

At one point, Sandor peeked his head into the office and spoke timidly, “Umm, we just got some pizzas delivered for lunch. You wanna take a break and eat?”

She threw up her hands, gesturing wildly at the mess around her, “How could I eat like this?!”

“Um, there’s a picnic bench out back.”

“No. I’ll eat when I’m done,” she spoke defiantly, leaving no room for argument.

Sandor scratched the back of his neck, “Sansa… should I be worried about you?”

“No,” she dropped her eyes back to the pile of chaos before her, “but be ready to have sex tonight.”

“I’m always ready to have sex… Wait, are you saying cleaning gets you hot?”

“Not cleaning, _organizing_.”

“Hmm… wish I knew that before I organized Betty’s garage.”

Sansa lifted her eyes enough to scowl at him.

He held up his hands though he hardly looked ashamed, “Alright, I’m going to go eat some pizza, so I have my strength for later.”

…

Sansa knew Jorah was surprised, disturbed, and grateful when she came back late Tuesday morning. She’d need to work tonight but could get in several hours at the shop before then.

Jorah was a quick learner – he vacated his office as soon as she walked in, taking only his cell phone, netbook, and a thick binder. The shop was loud, so she figured he hid himself in a supply closet or maybe in his car to work while she was here.

She’d successfully cleaned out all the old files yesterday (the bags were in Betty’s garage waiting to be turned into kindling for a bonfire when weather permitted) and was now trying to bring order to the rest. She was surprised that he kept paper copies of so many things though, and after several hours she realized a new system was needed, or else he’d just go back to his old, disorganized ways.

“Where’s Jorah?” she asked the first guy she saw in the shop that wasn’t under a chassis.

The young man’s eyes widened as he pointed toward the back door.

Sansa rolled her eyes. All the men in the shop seemed intimidated by her, and she wasn’t sure whether it was because she was fluttering about like a crazy organization fairy demanding people bring her garbage bags and empty boxes, or because her boyfriend was nearly seven feet of muscle, but either way it seemed ridiculous.

She marched outside and addressed the owner before even getting within ten feet of where he sat at a picnic table, “Why do you keep copies of all receipts and invoices?”

“Um… aren’t I supposed to?”

“I mean why keep _paper_ copies. You know there is really inexpensive software that will automatically file them on your computer? All you have to do is run them through a desktop scanner.”

“Uh, no… I didn’t know that… how do you know all this?”

She crossed her arms, “I’ve been financially responsible for a five- and then four-person household since I was eighteen. Plus, I used to work at a diner. When it was slow, I’d update the books, do the employee schedules, place orders… you know, the stuff the manager would have been doing if he weren’t busy doing coke and fucking one of the waitresses.”

Jorah seemed to have a comment to make, but she cut him off, “What do you use to keep your books?”

“Um, Quicken? Though honestly, I don’t keep up with it. At the end of the year I pay my CPA’s bookkeeper to do all that stuff so he can file my taxes.”

Sansa smacked her forehead, “How much does he charge for that?”

Jorah laughed self-deprecatingly, “A lot.”

She let out a sigh to indicate her disapproval, “Well how do you keep track of payables and receivables?”

“I have a ledger book. At the end of each month I scan through it to see what hasn’t been paid or received. I mail checks for what I owe and send reminders for what’s due to me.”

“Ledger _book?! Mail_ checks?! Once a _month_?!” Sansa had to sit down, “Jorah, do you realize you’re probably paying late fees? Some suppliers use Net 15-day terms. And why are you mailing checks? You can pay through your bank’s online system for free.”

He scrunched his nose, “I don’t trust that stuff.”

Sansa groaned, “When you mail a check, once it leaves your hand you have no idea if it’s ever received until it clears your bank. You have no proof you sent it. But if you pay online you get a confirmation number and you don’t even have to write it down – all that information is saved automatically.”

“Really? You think you can show me?”

“Yes, but…” Sansa checked her watch, “I need to leave to pick up the kids in ten minutes and make them dinner before I get ready for work.”

“You work nights?”

Sansa nodded.

Jorah shook his head incredulously, “You’re some woman. Clegane better not fuck it up.”

Sansa felt herself blush, “I’m not worried about _him_ fucking it up.”

Jorah chuckled, “No comment. Anyway, hang tight a sec.”

Jorah walked into the shop and whistled so shrilly it hurt Sansa’s ears even as she lagged a few paces behind him. All sound of work stopped, and the engines that were running were promptly cut off.

“Who here is not busy at this _exact_ moment?”

One of the younger men sheepishly raised his hand and walked toward Jorah as if preparing to be flogged for idleness. Sansa could admire that, while Jorah was _horrible_ at handling the administrative and financial aspects of a business, he could keep his dozen-plus male employees in line. Clearly, they all respected him, and that made Sansa respect him.

Once the man reached them, Jorah pulled a fifty out of his wallet, “Pick up Sansa’s kids then take them for Burger King or something. Then drop them off at home.”

After getting over her surprise, Sansa told the guy (Jake, according to his nametag) where the pickup spot was at each school, then texted the kids to expect a baby bunny of a grown man in coveralls to pick them up in a silver SUV, and to order to their hearts content at Burger King since Sansa wasn’t paying.

Jorah began steering her back outside to his netbook, “Alright, doll, show me this online payment stuff.”

…

_Alright, I’ll tell him next Friday. Not a minute later!_

Sansa was tired of negotiating with herself and betraying her own scruples, but she had a very legitimate reason this time, albeit one she almost forgot thanks to Ben’s reappearance, her still relatively new job, and her volunteer work at Jorah’s.

This Thursday was Rick’s thirteenth birthday, and he wanted to celebrate by playing paintball on Saturday.

Sansa _hated_ paintball. Anyone who said getting shot with those little balls didn’t hurt was lying. And since Sansa bruised easily, she became the laughingstock of her household for a good week after playing.

Rick and Arya spent the morning gearing up. They fancied themselves part of some Special Ops force. They wore army fatigue colors and painted their faces to match.

Sansa knew Ben really wanted to partake but chose to stay home to have some ‘guy time’ with Bran, and Sansa was so grateful for that (though she suspected Bran wasn’t).

Two of Rick’s guy friends and one girl friend (hmm, when did that happen?) were dropped off shortly before Gendry and Pod showed up – looking only slightly less impassioned than Arya and Rick.

But when Beric, Bronn, Thoros, and Tormund piled out of Beric’s truck, Sansa almost pissed herself laughing. They were one small step away from wearing ghillie suits. Tormund even coated his beard in some type of brownish-gray grease paint.

Sansa was about to mock them for looking like a matching set of G.I. Joes when they beat her to it – going on and on about how, with her gray jeans and hoodie and fire-red hair, they’d be able to pick her off from a mile away.

Sandor emerged just in time to defend his lady’s honor – or so she hoped. Instead he took one look at her and said she wasn’t allowed to come within twenty feet of him at any point during their outing for fear she’d blow his cover. As Sansa had no intention of taking the game seriously, she simply rolled her eyes and threatened to not let him within twenty feet of her for the next two weeks.

Bronn looped his arm through hers, “Don’t worry, I’ll take Red on my team...”

She felt smugly proud until he finished his thought, “…she’ll draw all the fire so I can pick you pussies off.”

Sansa crossed her arms, “That’s it – no birthday cake for any of you!”

Tormund’s eyes narrowed, “What kind of cake?”

“Chocolate with fresh strawberry filling and whipped cream icing.”

“I’m on Sansa’s team!”

…

When they got to the _field of battle_ , teams were decided. Sandor would take the four kids since they all wanted to be on the same team – Rick, Mike, Shawn, and Heather. Arya claimed Gendry, Pod, and Bronn. Beric took Thoros, Sansa, and Tormund. They played capture the flag, down but not out. Sansa tried not to let her eyes glaze over when Gendry explained the rules – mainly for the benefit of Sansa and Heather. Sansa secretly hoped she’d be hit early, sit down, and that none of her teammates would tap her back in. Then she could just have a relaxing afternoon of sitting in the northern woods enjoying the early autumn foliage. _Damn, I should have brought a book._

She didn’t get her wish, but it wasn’t too bad. She ended up getting into it. Shooting people was fun – particularly shooting Rick, Sandor, and Bronn. She was afraid to shoot Arya, tempting as it was, because Arya could hold a grudge for _years_.

As they were walking back to the cars Sansa smiled up at Sandor, “I think I won.”

He laughed as he looked down at her skeptically, “How do you figure?”

“I’m the most colorful!” she extended her arms proudly.

Sandor made a show of looking down at himself, “Then I suppose I lost.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Odd, since you’re such a big target.”

“Aye, but I’m light-footed and stealthy as fuck,” the pride in his tone was apparent and amusing. He hated receiving serious compliments, but had no problem gloating about skills that were only handy when playing paintball, or if he should decide to become a burglar.

Indeed, he was surprisingly stealthy. After a few rounds of capture the flag they played an elimination round – every man for himself, one hit and you’re out, last man standing wins. Sandor had won even though Arya and Rick tried to gang up on him when it came down to just the three of them. The betrayal seemed to motivate him, for he didn’t mind rubbing it in for the very sour-faced birthday boy.

Pod offered to drive the kids in Sansa’s car so Sansa could ride with Sandor. That meant riding in Beric’s truck along with Tormund and Thoros. Bronn invited himself to ride in Gendry’s car with him and Arya so that he could “chaperone” (actually, he started to say something about making sure Arya didn’t give Gendry road head until Sansa smacked him upside the head and reminded him there were children present whose last name wasn’t ‘Stark’).

Beric and Thoros sat in the front, leaving Sansa squished between Sandor and Tormund – much to the former’s chagrin and the latter’s delight. Surprisingly though, she wasn’t subjected to thirty minutes of threesome jokes. Rather, Tormund was gushing about a woman who’d recently started working with him at the metal fabrication shop. Clearly, Beric and Thoros had already heard everything about her, as they groaned throughout much of the conversation, but Tormund was undeterred.

“You ought to see this beauty,” he grinned, “Nearly as tall as your man. Thighs like tree trunks.”

“Umm…” Sansa didn’t know whether that was supposed to be good or bad.

Tormund continued, “Hair the color of straw, eyes the color of the sky.”

“Oh! She sounds very pretty.”

“Aye, that she is. She can throw a 70-pound bag over her head like it’s nothing…”

Sansa casually looked at Sandor, but he was busy staring out the window, having learned not to encourage Tormund. She turned back to Tormund, “So have you asked her on a date?”

Tormund nodded wistfully, “Many times.”

Sansa couldn’t help but chuckle, “And?”

“And she finally agreed.”

“Oh that’s wonderful!”

“Aye. Said she’d go on one date with me and then I have to leave her alone for the rest of her life.”

“Oh…”

“But one date with me is all it’ll take,” he grinned assuredly.

To her left Sandor snorted. Sansa ignored it, “Umm, okay. So where will you take her?”

Tormund narrowed his eyes, clearly taking this very seriously, “We’ll start with an afternoon at the shooting range. Then I’ll take her out for steak – she’s a real meat and potatoes kind of woman. Then a walk along the waterfront, and to cap off the evening I’ll take her back to my place and eat her golden pussy like I’m a starving man.”

Sansa had chosen the wrong moment to take a sip from Sandor’s water bottle and proceeded to choke and cough so violently that Beric was a few seconds from pulling over so someone could perform the Heimlich.

“So waddaya think?” Tormund asked eagerly, impervious to Sansa’s near-death experience.

Sansa wiped at the tears that had streamed down her cheeks, “Umm… what if she isn’t ready for… that?”

“She will be,” Tormund grinned, “After being exposed to my wit and charm for hours, she will be…”

Sansa nodded, “Well, women do like a confident man, I suppose.”

Tormund leaned his head back, smiling to himself, “Just think about the babies we’ll make.”

“Well, helpful tip, women tend not to like being impregnated on the first date.”

He turned his head to glare at her, “Do I look like a fool?”

Sansa stared at the messy red hair coming free from his ponytail, the unkempt beard with gray paint flaking off, and his intense eyes that she always thought were hazel but now looked grayish blue. “Umm…” she said for the tenth time, “So anyway, what’s her name?”

“Brienne. _Beautiful Brienne_.”

“That _is_ a beautiful name, but don’t we have enough B’s in our group already? Bran, Beric, Bronn, Ben…”

“We’ll kick Bronn out of the group,” he scrunched his nose and grinned conspiratorially.

“Hah! Then I’m definitely rooting for you with this Brienne woman!”


End file.
